《The Sound of Magic, Elegy [BOOK 1, EPIC FANTASY]》


 Chapter 1 - Day One

    Chapter 1


    Day One ¨C Night


    A die was cast.


    Laughter, blaring, and the scent of sweat and sweet alcohol pierced the night''s silence at Old Dalke¡¯s alehouse, ¡®The Stein¡¯. Only the most hardened drunkards and good-for-nothings were still present, and the fireplace and candles ran awfully low. Zaber and his friends were on their tenth or so round of Dozen-A-Death, a game of dice brought back from the first Yesilian War about a hundred years ago. A pile of copper groschen, broken into halves and quarters and some full pieces, lay in the middle of the table, scattered around an oil lamp.


    ¡°Status, Torm?¡± asked Zaber, the young man on the other side of a small, square table. Each of them had a stoneware mug painted with images of saints in front of them. Zaber stretched his neck to peek over at the dirty parchment his apprentice was reading from.


    ¡°You¡¯re in the lead with eighteen and Sagir is one point behind you,¡± said Torm, running his finger over the notes he took with a piece of coal. ¡°I¡¯m at fifteen and Asher is last with a meager nine.¡±


    A creak in the background and the sound of good boots trampling over the ground made Zaber and Sagir twitch in different ways. One¡¯s gaze darkened, and the other¡¯s averted. The taproom was rustic, though only half as dirty as one might expect in such an establishment in Westwatch. Filled with a couple of scattered men, all sitting alone and Old Dalke with his half-bald head and limping eye seated behind the counter alone. Waiting to close up shop, a trusty broom behind him, the geezer sighed annoyed.


    There was only one group of customers bundled together, until now. Zaber in his same old, worn-out brown gambeson and breeches. A thick belt with a canteen and attachments for arms that rested together with the other¡¯s weapons back at the front door cabinet. The owner did not allow anyone in with blank steel on them, no matter if one was licensed or not.


    ¡°Last turn of this round, you move first,¡± said Asher with no visible reaction to what was happening behind him and Zaber. Still, he showed three fingers below the table for his friend to see and nod. ¡°The quicker you get this over, the sooner I can catch up.¡± He smiled and knocked on the table. By far the most well-dressed man in the room, Asher wore a practical but fine, green waistcoat with loose arms. A nice bycocket hat rested next to his drink, and he wore a shiny silver ring. It had a magpie signet on it, completing Asher¡¯s strange look in a place like this.


    ¡°¡¯aight, let¡¯s go.¡± Zaber¡¯s voice rose up, but his ears were still shifted backwards. He grabbed the wooden, six-sided die, the leather cup, and began to shake.


    ¡°Ever noticed how Asher got worse since we got the shaker?¡± Torm smirked and winked at Asher, who was about ten years his senior, just as his mentor Zaber.


    Torm and Sagir sat with their faces towards the door and their backs to Old Dalke. The adolescent boy was the only one whose fun did not get disrupted by the rumblings and murmur of the new arrivals, filling the cabinet with more steel. It was the anniversary of Sagir¡¯s older brother, so his friends thought the foreign young man deserved a visit to a proper drinking hall. Sitting next to each other, there was barely a year between Torm and Sagir. And yet, they were a world apart.


    The folk at ¡®The Stein¡¯ had been giving strange eyes to Sagir when there were still more attentive and less drunk fellas around. But Old Dalke could be convinced to let him be. For a little extra coin. Asher and Zaber were cherished regulars, after all.


    The man of the hour relaxed again once the die started rolling again, and Zaber got one low roll after another. Sagir was agitated by it, seeing his chance of winning rise. ¡°Five total, damned I be,¡± joked Zaber aloud under the hoots and hollers of his younger companions. ¡°There you go, show us your skills.¡± He shoved the shaker and die in front of Asher.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think I missed that,¡± said Asher, stroking his goatee that had the same colors as his dark, slicked-back hair. He also was about a decade older than Torm and Sagir, at which he stared so very intensely. ¡°This shaker thing is only because you are a bunch of sore losers. The real fun lies not in fate.¡± Asher threw the die into the air and caught it inside the leather cup. Flipped it around between his fingers to ¡®whomp¡¯ it onto the table. ¡°It¡¯s about not getting caught. Whoever is best at it¨C¡± He flicked against the shaker and revealed a sequence of high rolls, only for the last one to be low. To make sure and not overthrow on the magic dozen. Higher than that, and all was null. ¡°Gets to strip his friends naked,¡± he finished the sentence after quite some time and returned a wink.


    ¡°Damned, not even a ten can save you from losing this. Zaber is still higher, and¨C¡± Torm noted down the new score. He rubbed coal off his fingers. On his withered, once nice, leather jerkin. A fair-looking boy, Torm was about to come of age. Hazy blue eyes that got him around with the girls of Westwatch and in the neighboring quarters that worked close by. A round face with full cheeks and great hair.


    ¡°Shut up and roll,¡± interrupted Asher and knocked on the table with calloused knuckles. Right next to the shaker, demanding.


    ¡°Quick, quick,¡± Sagir snapped with all of his fingers. ¡°I can feel how the Stars are blessing me with good Fate. Get your shitty turn over with so I can harvest my luck.¡± When he got excited, he ceased to have an inside-voice.


    Each round was concluded with the losing players throwing the margin between their total and the leading player in the middle of the table. For the winner to claim. Neither Torm nor Zaber were set on taking the pot, but they knew that Sagir wouldn¡¯t enjoy being treated poorly, so they played it straight.


    Torm held the shaker next to his ear and listened to the click-clack of the die as he swirled it around. Left ear first. Then adjusted the pacing at his right ear, looking comically concentrated. ¡°Psht, I can feel it¡­¡±, hissed Torm at Sagir. It was hard to keep a straight face. ¡°I¡¯m about to¡­ bam!¡± he shouted and the table trembled. Six eyes followed by four. ¡°There we go! Now¡­ to pass or go for it?¡±


    Asher leaned forward and stared at his oldest friend¡¯s ward. ¡°Average roll on a sixer is three and a half.¡± With a tingle of wealth, a soft leather pouch got placed right next to the die. ¡°I dare you. Double my share if you man up.¡±


    ¡°Tsk. Nobody rolls halves,¡± scoffed Zaber and rubbed through his greasy and unkempt hair before scratching the scar along his scrubby jawline. He did not want to ruin their fun, but his attention had shifted from the moment. A familiar tingle and clomps from behind had captured Zaber. This evening had been great so far; he would be damned if anyone would be pissing all over it. His friend deserved a break, and Zaber owed Sagir¡¯s older brother to assure that.


    ¡°Bet. Making your arse pay double is worth it,¡± said Torm and started his spiel again¡­ and rocked another six. ¡°Fuck.¡±


    A roaring from Sagir and a reserved laughter from Asher became the melody of mockery for Torm. His mentor shook his head, sighing amused. The boy was too easy to provoke, and Zaber knew that lack of experience wasn¡¯t something he could simply drill out of him. These were lessons that could only be learned from harsh reality. One had to fail a lot before winning became even an option. And to keep winning, one had to go through a lot of pain. But as long as they stuck together, Torm could learn to lose without it posing much of a threat to him. A luxury not available to everyone.


    ¡°Fff¨C¡± Torm was furious and punched the table, making everyone¡¯s drink spill a little. He grabbed his own and raised it in anger. ¡°By the Stars, to me, prost!¡± Zaber and Asher replied with their own ¡°Prost!¡±, but looked down and closed their eyes where Torm had looked up, and Sagir said ¡°?erefe!¡±


    It was Sagir¡¯s turn next, and he switched the mug for the shaker. He threw the die inside as if he was adding an ingredient to a cauldron and started to chant in his native tongue. Less like a game and more like the brewing of a spell. Torm rolled his eyes, but Asher and Zaber just looked at each other. They had heard many a Yesilian chants in the past, fast and efficient, like their own officers. It was a nice song that Sagir sang them, but all knew well that this had nothing to do with what their nobility was capable of. This was not real magic.


    ¡°B¨¹y¨¹!¡± Sagir finished the show and paragraphed long rolls across the table, accompanied by words he knew were nonsense to his friends. ¡°See Sagir the irresistible perform the sorcery of his homeland,¡± he said, and the die started to speak in quick succession. With meager outcomes totaling six.


    ¡°I won!¡± he yelled. ¡°By the Stars, I won!¡±


    After letting him have his moment, Torm''s hand landed on Sagir''s shoulder, to gain the attention of his grinning friend. ¡°I hate to break it to you, but¨C¡± he said with played up reluctance.


    ¡°That¡¯s a tie.¡± Asher stole his thunder. ¡°You and Zaber are at twenty-three. I¡¯m at nineteen. Big shot over here is at fifteen,¡± he said and earned a defeated side-eye from the ought-to-be winner. Unrelated, there was a bump into Asher¡¯s knee from Zaber. Sagir had fallen silent and his posture became meek and subservient, looking straight at the ground between his legs.


    The two former soldiers, Zaber and Asher, looked at each other. Reassuring that they felt the same presence in their backs. Zaber shut his eyes and exhaled frustrated, while Asher laid his hands on the table to push himself up from the chair. A good chunk apart from the table.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± said an authoritative voice right behind them. Three watchmen had built themselves up, one standing front and center. Their kettle helmets had been left behind, as were their padded coifs. The unkind winter had finally come to an end and it wasn¡¯t appropriate to cover under a roof. Even if there was no obligation for them to leave their weapons behind, their halberds were too clunky. Thus, they left them at the same cabinet where Old Dalke forced everyone to store their steel. Not the swords and maces at their hips, though. ¡°There are customers who want some peace and quiet.¡± The man had earned some extra copper on his shield-shaped fibula, marking him as a corporal. The other two were some simple rank and files. Their last patrol had likely just ended. It was time for an after-work beer before returning to their post.


    ¡°My, my, what an unpleasant circumstance,¡± said Asher and took the stage. Neither he nor Zaber hesitated to stand up and face the three guards, tall and assertive, on equal footing.


    Torm was about to follow up. He had seen the men coming up too late and acted too slow, where his mentor and Asher acted out a well oiled routine. When Zaber gave him a sign to keep an eye on Sagir, he stayed down but put his hands at the table, to act fast if needed.


    ¡°Gentlemen, as far as I see it, we did nothing wrong here,¡± Asher continued, his hands held out for everyone to see. The scar at Zaber¡¯s chin and the back of his hand began to itch. As did Asher¡¯s on the opposite hand and the thin one on his cheek. ¡°Mind explaining what we¡¯re accused of? Last time I checked, being loud is not a crime and none of your damned business,¡± he said and pointed back at the disgruntled innkeeper. ¡°If Old Dalke here has no problem with it.¡±


    ¡°Shut your trap, peppersack,¡± replied the corporal and Zaber¡¯s eyes wandered past them to the cabinet, where all their own weaponry laid rest. Nothing above a knife¡¯s shape were tolerated here. But he and Asher brought blades of full lengths and could show old permits, from back in the day. ¡°The Yesilian does not belong here. We might be in Westwatch, but you hav¡¯to behave your arses,¡± said the guard and looked past the two former soldiers. ¡°I¡¯m sure not all of you are animals, so show me you¡¯re civilized men.¡±


    Zaber¡¯s brows narrowed and the knuckles of his fist cracked subtly at that emphasis. He stared at the patrol leader in front of him, his physique at full display. Built up, with him and Asher being ever so slightly taller than the average man, like the ones confronting them. With every word, their stances shifted closer and closer, narrowing the gap between them. It was their instinct to not back down, second nature.


    With a gasp and raised fist, Asher gave in first. He looked left and right, behind and in front of him. Checking on his belongings, the two young friends still at the table, and lastly, his gaze landed on Zaber. ¡°Gentlemen. Zaber,¡± he stressed. ¡°It is late and I have coin to make in the morrow. I have neither the time nor inclination for¡­ whatever this is.¡± He threw the coins he owed to the game on the table and packed up. Chugged down the rest of his ale in one go, relishing. No words were spoken, Sagir still trying to sink into the floor and Torm following Asher¡¯s movement in case he might act on an impulse. It was Zaber who kept all three of them in place with nothing but the intensity of his stare. Until his old friend moved out without attempting to slip past the watchmen. Or go around. Asher bumped into the shoulder of one of them and left them dumbfounded.


    ¡°¡¯aight, no problem,¡± said Zaber in a biting tone. ¡°I¡¯ll handle this. See you around.¡± There was no sign of him breaking gaze.


    ¡°Oh, I am sure you¡¯ll handle this.¡± Asher turned around one more time, but did not stop walking. Pacing backwards through the taproom, he said; ¡°Have fun.¡± He smirked at his comrade before taking up his fine sheathed blade from the cabinet. The way he left, one might think Asher owned the entire establishment.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Most men, and all were men, in ¡®The Stein¡¯ had been too drunk to be bothered by some rowdy games. Even if a someone was, they knew better than to get their faces rearranged by him or his friends. The taproom wasn¡¯t lively, nor was it large. At the far end of Westwatch, Old Dalke¡¯s services were known for being cheap and indiscriminate. A small timbered house with a room to rent above. Dark, stinky and cozy.


    ¡°We are three freemen,¡± said Zaber and moved nose to nose with the corporal. ¡°Who invited their friend to spend an eve with. No law was violated by us, not the King¡¯s nor the Margrave¡¯s.¡±


    Without knowing, it was easy to think Zaber a second or third rate mercenary, escort or bodyguard. All leather scuffed, that shitty gambeson, still functional but way past its heyday. Torm¡¯s thick jerkin was only slightly better, but more of what a hunter under noble pay would wear. Solely Asher had not aligned with the picture that Sagir¡¯s cheap clothes and the other two presented. The rest fit in well with what a resident of Westwatch looked like. Folks here were servants to even other common folk, peons and foreigners. Hands for hire, if not owned through indenture or worse. One who looked for something done cheap in in the City of Teblen came to Westwatch, with its namesake to keep everyone in check.


    ¡°He¨C¡±, the corporal swallowed. ¡°He may be allowed to stay in the company of freemen to vouch for him.¡± He stumbled over his speech. ¡°B¨C, but the curfew has already passed. As soon as he steps outside, we got ourselves a crime,¡± he said with newfound confidence at the last word.


    The alehouse froze. Everyone with even one proper sense intact, and not out of commission, held their breath. One of the lower ranked watchmen leaned forward and reached for the corporal. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°I damned know who that is!¡± Their leader shrugged him off as his voice exploded. ¡°Don¡¯t you tell me¨C¡±


    A sudden yell pierced through the silence. ¡°Zab¡¯r! Ya¡¯r scaring away ¡®de drunkard!¡± said Old Dalke. ¡°As if ¡®de murker wasn¡¯t enuff to bring, hav¡¯ ya bloody battles outside!¡± His half-stubby finger pointed at an unclear position through the room, rheumatic tremors getting the better of him.


    Much to the dismay of the aging innkeeper, Zaber had been completely lost in the moment. Old Dalke was no friend, but he was one of them. The owner¡¯s word were not able to reach Zaber, drown out the voice, his eyes were glued to the men in front of him. That corporal was out for trouble, a real hot shot. One of those who did not knew when to shut up. Not native to Westwatch, as everybody here knew that there were three things to not mess with. The Red Mob, the Morell Brothers and¡­


    ¡°Listen to the man, Zaber,¡± said Torm with a rougish little laugh. ¡°We are not allowed to leave The Stein until sunrise, or else we¡¯ll commit a serious crime. Upright freemen like us would never do that, wouldn¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Very funny, lad,¡± hissed the corporal.


    ¡°The boy ain¡¯t your lad,¡± said Zaber and their foreheads were about to touch.


    ¡°And not a boy,¡± said Torm and stood up to position himself as a shield in front of Sagir.


    The young Yesilian man¡¯s eyes had moved up, twitching between his friends and perpetrators. He just wanted a carefree day in a real place. He was not unthankful to hang out with his own kin. In their shacks or his friend¡¯s shelter. But being able to sit and drink ¨C even though he shouldn¡¯t ¨C like a normal fella. Was that too much to ask for?


    ¡°You heard the boy,¡± said Zaber. He took a half-step backwards and eyed the chair next to him. ¡°Are you going to arrest us now, or are we all going to have a good time?¡±


    Where the privates had already broken eye contact, frantically glimpsing through the room and each other, their superior was still full of himself. Maybe this was his day. They were three and Zaber was alone, unarmed and had to look out for that savage and kid. And did he hear about this Zaber? Rumors like that were impossible anyway. He was a commoner like them, no single man could be that dangerous. He had no gang, no followers, only some criminal friends here and there. Damned he be, his closest thing to an ally were whores. It was an insult to the Margrave of Tunow-Aine¡¯s capital city to have a wild card like this bum roam free.


    Zaber on the other hand had already lost sight of the situation. He knew very well that his fool¡¯s freedom in Teblen had limits, but in a situation like this, something deeper inside him was triggered. Nobles or patricians might have been taboo. Hurting them, he would never get away with. But a common soldier, a watchman nonetheless. As long as they didn¡¯t overdo it¡­


    ¡°I¨C, I must ask you to follow us to the Watch. The Yesilian and you t¨C¡± The corporal stuttered, again, after he had gathered all his courage. Just to be interrupted.


    A sidestep to build up power and one thing leads to another. Namely; a straight right that landed on a chin. A metallic ¡®clank¡¯ from the maille of the corporal¡¯s hauberk set the taproom on fire. In an instant, the guard fell flat on the floor, which was the sign Torm had waited for.


    The privates were shocked at first, but they were as well trained as a volunteer could wish for. Hands on hilts, their arming swords were about to be drawn. Though, Zaber''s other hand had already reached behind him and grabbed the chair he had been sitting on. He swung the chair at one of the remaining watchman in one swift motion. Torm jump-sprinted across the table and lunged at the other one, kicking him in the chest. At the same time, wood connected and broke with a loud ¡®crack¡¯.


    The moment of surprise was over and both of their opponents stumbled backwards in pain. Wearing good maille was a sign of their parents'' wealth and indicative of their desire for their sons to survive ¨C and it paid off. Zaber did not expect too much of them, they likely only enlisted to evade being drafted into a real regiment or for their fathers¡¯ reputation. However, at the moment they had the advantage in equipment, so Zaber retreated and charged right at Old Dalke, sitting behind his counter.


    ¡°Zab¡¯r no!¡± yelled the old timer with thrown up hands.


    As Zaber ran by, he saw Sagir slip under the table. Good. The greasy and unkempt customer stormed right at the innkeeper. Phased over the counter and grabbed the sturdy wooden broom that Old Dalke kept there to get rid of the drunkards after midnight. One guard was already coming after him. Torm had circled around the other private to face them one at a time. The boy had his head in the game and if Zaber¡¯s switch hadn¡¯t already been flipped, the mentor might have smiled.


    ¡°You are in big trou¨C¡± the private screamed as he charged, sword raised and holding his belt.


    Broom in hand, Zaber¡¯s other hand flicked forward a pitcher from the counter and propelled it right into the assailant¡¯s face. Stunned again and wide open, Zaber grabbed the sturdy stick with both hands and catapulted over the counter. The watchman was kneeling down when his face crashed into the wooden floor, smashed on the skull. Getting jumped on like this without a helmet would bring down the biggest oxen of a fella. And the private was far off from being that. His body went limp, not even his feet wiggling, a smidge of blood trickling from the ear. Standing right next to it, Zaber checked the broken end of the broom and tossed it to the side.


    Meanwhile, Torm was about to fight himself past his opponent, towards the weapon¡¯s cabinet. Anybody who had not succumbed to alcohol had fled in a confused panic. One even ran out of the alehouse, neither paying nor shutting the door behind him ¨C as if he saw a ghost. The boy had armed himself with a chair, thrusting, rotating and blocking relentlessly as the watchman flailed his sword at him. The guard was breathing heavily, as chipping away at the sturdy wood was not what he was trained for. Dueling wasn¡¯t emphasized in their two year enlistments. Trying to not get hit in the face by one of the four legs took all the parrying he had learned.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to help him?¡± asked Sagir under the table, after he got startled by Zaber¡¯s footsteps.


    ¡°Not necessary. Got himself a weapon, keeps his distance¨C¡± said Zaber and squatted down. ¡°It¡¯s already over, you can get out.¡±


    ¡°You know¡­¡± Sagir looked around and caught Old Dalke¡¯s wrathful gaze. ¡°I prefer it down here. I prefer not to¨C¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± interrupted Zaber and braced himself on one fist, right next to Sagir. ¡°Not when you¡¯re with me.¡± He smiled in a way that offset his companion. Wouldn¡¯t it be great if Zaber could teach Sagir and Torm alike? To help himself at times like this. But even without the extra privileges Zaber enjoyed, if Sagir would dare to touch any of them¡­ No, this was the only thing the veteran was good for these days. The only thing that fulfilled him. Be there for his friends when they needed him, in the only way he knew how.


    The watchman engaged with Torm was wheezing and getting kicked in the chest hadn¡¯t been a good start either. The boy kept up the pressure on his better armed and armored adversary. When the private aimed at the fingers that held the chair, a mocking ¡°Eh, don¡¯t!¡±, sprung forth. Torm was fully enjoying himself by now, in a less subtle way than his mentor. If the guard¡¯s blade had been longer, like that of a knight or warranted officer, this wouldn¡¯t be safe. But Torm knew that the rank and files sucked at swordplay.


    A strong final push widened the gap between the watchman and the cocky youngster, allowing Torm to break away. They had moved close enough to the weapon storage. Torm threw the chair at close-distance to shock and awe his opponent. To dash past him. Get his hands at his bauernwehr, a shorter version of Zaber¡¯s langes messer that rested next to it. He wasn¡¯t allowed to wear a longer sword like Zaber and Asher.


    Torm, with a bright smile due to the blade in his hand, was pursued by the last guard. Neither of them knew that the other guard had been felled, lost in the their own dance. Under heavy panting, the private shifted into a fighting stance.


    A slugfest of blocks and parries broke out, in which Torm outplayed his opponent like a Lecture on a holiday. A damned braggart is what the boy was and Zaber wasn¡¯t fond of it at all. Steel clanged on steel until Torm''s reflexes became the dominant force. A last riposte turned into a thrust. It was a blessing by the Stars that the boy got his head back into the game at the last moment. He narrowly missed the neck, his blade pressing between the riveted chains and into the soft padding beneath.


    His opponent was only three or four years older than Torm at best. Both were young and inexperienced, and both were shocked. Frozen.


    ¡°D¨C, did you just¡­?¡± uttered the private.


    ¡°I¨C¡±, Torm halted. ¡°No!¡± he cried out and wrapped his hand around the young soldier¡¯s wrist. One push and twist later, the shocked young guard let go of his weapon, in pain. There was no way they would get away with murder, not with them, not with the Watch. A swift strike with the hilt brought the overwhelmed watchman down for good. Torm had held his breath until now.


    ¡°G¡¯t lost! Fuck¡¯n, damn¡¯d, sons ¡®f whor¡¯s!¡± Old Dalke screamed off the top of his lungs until his voice cracked. ¡°P¡¯ss off! G¡¯t out! ¡®n take ¡®de damn¡¯d blackhead with ya¡¯!¡±


    He was right. It was time for Zaber, Torm and Sagir to scram. The veteran gathered their coin, but left half of it on the table for Old Dalke. For the mess. There was no sense of urgency, but now that the fight was over, the tension that usually resided in Zaber¡¯s body returned. He bowed his head at the innkeeper, helped Sagir find the courage to get up on his feet and walked towards his apprentice. Torm had already grabbed all their weapons and handed them over.


    It took an awfully long moment to put them on and Sagir was twitching and fiddling impatiently. He felt the eyes piercing through his skin. Skin that looked different from theirs. The scar on his short trimmed forehead shined especially curved at a moment like this.


    ¡°Can you hurry?¡± Sagir looked at the puddle of blood in front of the counter that Old Dalke had not yet seen. ¡°I swear, he¡¯s going to tell on me.¡±


    ¡°He ain¡¯t,¡± said Zaber and put his lange messer next to a stiletto. ¡°He¡¯s one of us. He wouldn¡¯t get Asher or me in trouble.¡±


    ¡°Ya¡¯ fuck¡¯n owe me. If ¡®dey shut me damn¡¯d wat¡¯rhole down, I¡¯ll find ya¡¯,¡± were Old Dalke¡¯s words of goodbye.


    After a last acknowledging turn to face the old man, Zaber pushed the door open, allowing Torm and Sagir to escape into the night. In a city like Teblen, the stars were hard to spot behind that thin veil of gray smog. Torm was still filled with thrill and Sagir¡¯s eyes shifted through the streets. Zaber¡¯s eyes, though, were only looking into the darkest corners. And then he looked upwards at the pale red and white moonlight of the Night Sisters. All of them pulled out their headpieces and covered up. None of them wanted to disrespect the Stars.


    ¡°Let¡¯s¨C¡± Sagir halted, trembling. ¡°Let¡¯s take the back alleys,¡± he said.


    ¡°We¡¯ll escort you back to Yesil Street.¡± Zaber put a hand on his friends shoulder.


    Teblen wasn¡¯t a dangerous city, as it was the residence of one of the many princes sworn and bound to the High King of Albion. But it was a city, thereof had problems that the majority of peasants did not have to deal with. For someone like Sagir, this counted double and triple. Especially at a time where he wasn¡¯t even allowed to be outside. No place was really safe for him or his folk. The least Zaber could do with his dubious reputation was to keep an eye out for him. At least that was what he promised Sagir¡¯s brother.


    ¡°Crazy night, huh?¡± Torm broke the long, uncomfortable silence between them.


    ¡°You tell me,¡± scoffed Sagir. ¡°Why must this happen¨C¡± His eyes wandered down. ¡°Again¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Zaber smiled. ¡°You winning?¡± He pulled out a handful of groschen and held them in front of his friend, amused.


    ¡°So I did win? No tie, no bullshit?¡± Sagir forced a gloomy smile.


    All of them had one more good laugh. Zaber looked up at the sky for guidance, the constellation of Bear shimmering through the veil. It had been a great evening. A really good time.

 Chapter 2 - Day Two

    Chapter 2


    Day Two ¨C Noon


    Father Sun has just passed his most glorious moment, and Torm has spent the morning alone, as he usually does. A night like the last had made even him sleep longer, tired out, but he rose nonetheless. Out of habit. The benevolent golden globe that blessed them shined too bright to miss out. His nest was in the front¡ªthe Solar Tower¡ªright above the entrance of the ruined temple. Close to all of Westwatch was visible from here: the streets, the houses, and the tarnished stars at night. Unlike the beloved bum who took him in five years ago, he did not want to waste precious daylight.


    Zaber was still hidden away in the old sacristy that served as his chamber. The small temple had burned down two years before Torm and him had arrived in Teblen. Six years in total had the infamous quarter of Westwatch been without its own site of prayer. No Lecture, Fate-Reading, or Singing to the Stars by an Auror; no care of souls.. And no attempts of renovation nor tearing it down had been made. And from what Torm and Zaber were told, nobody had cared to investigate what had happened. Because nobody cared about Westwatch, except for its imposing namesake.


    ¡°Get up, get up, get up. I. Am. Coming,¡± babbled the boy as he walked through the altar room. He had no idea how long Zaber had stayed up after they¡¯ve come back, the man rarely slept before deep at night. Shut-eye often only came to him just before sunrise.


    Both Lunar Towers, that would normally be at the back of a Star Temple had collapsed, most of the roof burned to a crisp. With planks from the benches, the remnants of the truss were covered with stretches of sheets. To have some spots protected from the weather, with little success. The altar room came right after a vestibule and used to be filled with ornately carved benches, of which few survived. A firepit made from rubble. Small barrels for the rats to hide in. And lots of rubbish and clobber, dispersed around. An incomprehensible mess.


    ¡°Time to get up,¡± yelled Torm one last time and kicked the ailing door to Zaber¡¯s room open. He waited in the door frame, knowing that his mentor was not the safest to be around when he woke up bad.


    And woke up bad he did. Zaber jolted up. His eyes widened in shock and strangled yelp escaped the veteran¡¯s throat. The blank steel of his lange messer flashed for a moment, Zaber¡¯s first instinct was to put his hand on the hilt. This room was even messier, with the greasy and unkempt man¡¯s belongings scattered everywhere. Order was only found with his weapons, lined up for quick access. Torm knew that his mentor¡¯s state of mind was often clouded after waking up and there was a danger of getting knocked to the ground or worse. But the former mercenary recognized the face of his apprentice fast enough. They were off to a good start, Zaber didn¡¯t even scream.


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry,¡± said Torm. ¡°And the barrel almost empty.¡±


    It took some groaning and grumping before Zaber replied; ¡°¡¯aight. Get the coin, I¡¯ll be ready¡­¡± He rubbed his eyes and knocked himself on the head, frustrated. ¡°Soon¡­ ish.¡± Chest still pumping, breath still galloping, Zaber was looking around the mess that was his room. For an iron chain with keys on it, buried under his blanket. He kept it close, usually on or under his body, so that it couldn¡¯t be found. In the rare event when he was fast asleep. Zaber threw the keys to his apprentice and got up. Tensed up, the greasy and unkempt man had get dressed first. Pack his weapons, take a sip from his canteen. Get some fluids into his body. To feel better.


    Torm, meanwhile, headed back into the altar room. Seldom did anything disappear from here without their knowledge. Many of the scoundrels and beggars around knew better than to mess with Zaber. Not even the ones he liked, which were quite a lot. As long as it was only food, neither he nor Torm cared about it being stolen from. There were more important things around their home.


    The real valuables were stashed away under the stone altar. A solid block of marble, carved with the face of Father Sun. Flanked by his beautiful, yet distant, daughters. The top used to hold a gilded fire bowl for sacrifices, but everything of worth had long been stripped away. The stained glass windows, depicting the twelve Minor and five Major Constellations in ascending might, yellowed and broken.


    The boy pulled open the secret hatch beneath it and let the rays of sun flow in. All of Zaber¡¯s old armor and weapons were down here, as well as their perishables. And the chest. Torm jumped down the short ladder and had to crouch slightly. Even though he wasn¡¯t that tall, average, but still growing. If the Stars would bless him to be his mentor¡¯s height.


    The heavy key was for the lock on the hatch. The smaller one was for the chest with the heavy iron mountings. Decorated all over, it bore the personalized crest of Airich of Belge: A green hill on white ground, with a flaming spear. The man Zaber, Asher and their other friends Buron and Breg had served under. Filled with copper groschen, silver gulden and gold thalers. Signet rings and a gauntlet made from solid gold, engraved with scripture neither Torm nor Zaber could read. Professionally manufactured maps and letters in foreign words. And many more previous belt buckles, fibulas and jewelry. Hardly any of which were touched, even after four years.


    Torm didn¡¯t find living in this pile of rubble a pleasantry, but Zaber did. And the veteran had taken good care of him, so who was Torm to tell him off. This inheritance made sure they could live the way they wanted. And Zaber wanted to live like this. Builds character, he preached, and they weren¡¯t bothered by neighbors or proprietors. Or anybody. The boy ran his fingers through their wealth ¨C his mentor¡¯s wealth ¨C and took all that wasn¡¯t gold. Each winter kept getting colder, harsher and more jarring, but never had they spend any of the thalers. Not even on fire wood. A life so very different from what Torm used to have, before they met.


    ¡°Anything need oil down there?¡± Zaber stepped to the edge, and his shadow stripped away the light. ¡°Or polish?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Torm, shaking his head, his eyes wandering from the coin to the pieces of metal and leather. ¡°Nothing important, at least.¡± He rubbed some rust off the poleless heads of a poleaxe and a pike.


    Zaber wore his regular loadout. An arming cap, the brown gambeson with short sleeves and with simple linen beneath it. A langes messer and a stiletto with a pouch and his canteen. His horseman¡¯s boots and breeches looked like they were about to fall apart around the knees. But they had been doing that for at least the last two years.


    ¡°This is the plan for the day,¡± announced Zaber. ¡°Get sausages and jerky from Olef, then head over to Trave for bread. We should stop by Dalke¡¯s and refill the barrel¡­ if he let¡¯s us.¡±


    ¡°Fine, sounds good to me. Maybe some schnapps?¡± said Torm, climbing back up. ¡°Sparring today?¡± The look on his face was longing, like a puppy¡¯s, with a shrewd smile.


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod. ¡°Arm up, time to roll out.¡±


    </a> Still in his undergarments, it didn¡¯t take long for Torm to slip into something more substantial. Unlike his mentor, the boy owned more than one article of clothing for each part of his body. The only default was his thick leather jerkin, because Zaber insisted on never going out unarmored. Torm pulled up the sleeves of his red tunic and put on a pre-arranged belt with a hunting knife and a bauernwehr. Everything from his boots to the chausses was dusted and scoffed as well, but not excessively. Up in his nest, next to his books, he had a brush and a razor. Even a little mirror to not look uncouthed and unpresentable to the ladies. The finishing touch ¨C as always ¨C was his gray felt cap, with a bronze fibula shaped like a sheep. He tilted it to the side ever so slightly.


    ¡°There we go,¡± said Torm and adjusted the cap once more. ¡°Let¡¯s hit the streets.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight.¡± Zaber stepped outside first.


    </a> Young and old, men and women of all sizes, clad in simple dresses and robes. They marveled at all of Westwatch¡¯s splendor. The brisk business of the working folk had reached its height, ready for a break. To rest and dine. A small yard with trees had been in front of the temple. Most folk used it as an extension of the crossing between the two main roads through the quarters. It used to be called St. Heinmuth Street, after the namesake of the temple. But nowadays, most folk named it after the rubble that remained: Ruins Street.


    ¡°Good day,¡± laughed a man. He dragged an empty cart behind him and waved his straw hat at Torm. ¡°And good morrow for you,¡± he added and looked at Zaber, smiling.


    Zaber greeted back, with a tip to his cap. ¡°Eger,¡± he said. A young woman behind the man carried a child in one arm and held another one¡¯s hand as she sped past the cart. Zaber¡¯s eyes sharpened when he saw her eyes roll. She shook her head at Eger¡¯s back in disapproval. ¡°What¡¯s the business?¡± asked Zaber, provocatively staring at the woman. She averted the gaze, and the greasy and unkempt man switched back to Eger.


    ¡°Flour from the Rygen mill for Trave,¡± replied Eger delighted, happy to have work. ¡°Plenty to do.¡± He had not noticed the woman, nor Zaber¡¯s stare. The men nodded each other farewell, as their paths seemed to diverge already, and neither of them was slowing down.


    Only when his mentor called the stranger by name did Torm remember who the fella was. A familiar face, but the boy had no idea. Maybe someone from Marghe¡¯s place. However, who he remembered were the two girls trotting along a seamstress, right across the street. Milda and her sister Bera snuck a shy wave at him. He returned the gesture, of course.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Most folks around here had a vague idea of who the duo was. A couple of shady characters not to mess with. The vast majority didn¡¯t care a bunch, as long as their peace was kept. Zaber and Torm were not the only bums in Westwatch and there were more pressing matters in a commonfolk¡¯s life.


    ¡°Defiler!¡± An old woman voiced her opinion by spitting in front of them.


    ¡°Good for nothing!¡± added her husband, and another ¡®ptui¡¯ landed in front of them. The couple went by as quick as they had entered their field of vision. To Torm, they were a nuisance, dimwits who did not know better. To Zaber they were something worse. Something he followed with one narrowed eye as long as he could. Resisting the voice.


    They arrived at the northern of the two main roads through Westwatch, Magpie Lane. It was a busy one, with lots of traffic. Broad enough to handle proper coaches and peppered with shopfronts. As with all named streets and roads in Teblen, a gutter with sewage drains ran in the middle. The magistrates decreed it as the ideal way to get rid of horse droppings, with every rainfall. The most common style of in the city were half-timbers, many with stone bases. In Westwatch, these didn¡¯t even make up half. Many planked together and in bad condition. Nonetheless, cozy. Folks began to care more about the street¡¯s cleanliness too, after the last visit of the magistrates. Zaber and Torm had to walk towards the walls, westwards. The ominous keep that gave the quarter it¡¯s name was the other way around. At the crossings to better neighborhoods, to the east. A looming presence that towered above all, if either Zaber or Torm cared to look behind them. But there was no time to waste on something meaningless like that. They were hungry and had food to buy.


    ¡°On the yester¡­¡± said Zaber out of nowhere, his hands resting on his girdle. Close to his weapons. ¡°You almost fucked up.¡±


    Young Torm¡¯s thoughts were elsewhere, his eyes wandering around the buildings. He put a lot of effort into becoming more aware, obtain a keen eye. To match that of Zaber and Asher, who seamlessly picked up on danger or trouble. All the bustling a city of this size was filled with, the drills he got from his mentor, and an unusual freedom. The boy barely grasped his childhood anymore. Gone were the comforts and protective hands above his head. Teblen¡­ no, Westwatch really was an ideal place to learn.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Torm¡¯s reaction was delayed. He only buzzed a confirmation; ¡°Hrmph¡±, with nothing else to follow. What else was there to say?


    ¡°You can¡¯t lose yourself like that. Fighting is more than reflexes, it¡¯s thinking ahead, having a routine,¡± said Zaber. ¡°You just wanted to have a swordfight and show off.¡±


    ¡°But¨C¡± Torm clenched his fist. He knew what Zaber was getting at. He knew before fighting, he knew while fighting and he knew after the fight. Nothing bad happened, everything worked out fine.


    Zaber sighed so loud, that it interrupted the boy. ¡°I get it. It feels great,¡± he said. ¡°But what was your plan? You were already armed and that guard was a tool. The chair was good thinking and you didn¡¯t risk getting us in real trouble. But the longer a fight goes, the more room you leave open to mess up.¡±


    Torm¡¯s fist was still clenched. So hard that he had to find something else to do, or risk hurting himself. He let himself go. Enjoyed the moment. Zaber always sorted shit out without help and it was even worse when Asher wasn¡¯t pissing off. If he hadn¡¯t, Torm wouldn¡¯t have had jack shit to do. Only looking after Sagir. ¡°I screwed up, what now,¡± barked the boy after a while. Eyes glued to the ground, he grabbed his cap and ran his hands through his hair.


    ¡°¡¯aight, all good. Your noggin took over soon enough,¡± said Zaber. A fist bumped into the Torm¡¯s shoulder. Just when Torm put his cap back on, Zaber slapped it off-kilter. Feathered his apprentice¡¯s short brown hair up good, and smiled.


    Torm tried to duck away with a gloomy smile and combed his hair back together with his fingers. ¡°I¨C¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡± Zaber looked down the street. ¡°Who were the girls you waved at?¡± He was still smiling. A good day it seems.


    </a> ¡°How about you mind your own damned business?¡± Torm boasted a smirk. ¡°Ran into them last time you were out and about with Asher.¡±


    ¡°Ran into?¡± asked Zaber with one eyebrow raised. ¡°Out and about?¡±


    As they walked on, some people steered away from them. Torm shrugged innocently and gestured wide. ¡°What can I say¨C¡± His voice pitched up. ¡°I¡¯m a popular young man.¡±


    ¡°You forgot charming,¡± said Zaber dryly. ¡°Ain¡¯t one of them a bit young? They sisters?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Kell was with me to dampen my luck. We were out to get ourselves in trouble, to no effect. Hanged with some kids from the deep streets,¡± said Torm and waved his hands in disregard. ¡°You know Kell, he¡¯s a goodie. I only fooled around after dark with Milda, nothing more.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the older one?¡±


    Torm stood still for a moment and exhaled annoyed. Left behind by his mentor who just walked on without looking back. ¡°Come on,¡± said the boy and caught up. ¡°Who do you believe me to be? Not everyone can be a eunuch.¡±


    Torm saw how Zaber tensed up again, shoulders bent like a bow. He hadn¡¯t relaxed entirely, because he never did. But now, a wall of silence built up between them. Before it became too awkward to bear, and Torm was about to utter an apology, Zaber spoke up. ¡°I ain¡¯t a eunuch.¡± Before that, he had stared off. Into nothing. Lost. ¡°I just¨C¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine. I know,¡± said Torm and put his arm around Zaber. ¡°So¡­ I got my namesgiving in three Constellations, we celebrating at Marghe¡¯s? I¡¯m old en¨C¡±


    ¡°If I ever catch you there, I¡¯ll beat the ever-loving shit out of you.¡± Zaber knew he was teased and played along. To get over it. Even forced one of his half-assed smiles.


    ¡°You already said we¡¯re going to spar later,¡± laughed Torm and walked on. ¡°But for real, you could ask Asher to take me next time.¡±


    The pair stood out among the commonfolk as unusually well armed. Most wore nothing, or their tools. A knife at best, or a walking stick. Being besteeled as they were was a trait found in members of the Sellsword Guild, or belonging to the Morell Brothers and Red Mob. The length and style of a sword, like Zaber¡¯s, signaled to others that he had a background. That Torm wandered next to him with similar gear, but shorter, also made clear that the boy had no history of service. Nonetheless, nobody would be armed like them if they didn¡¯t mean business. And those who meant business didn¡¯t walk these parts of Westwatch, they were on a job or visited Red Cat Alley. To piss away they pay.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t asking,¡± shrugged Zaber. ¡°This¡¯ up to him. Damned I know when his next out and about is.¡±


    The boy sighed until his lungs were empty, thinking long and good about his next words. ¡°See, we only have to¨C¡±, he halted because Zaber seemed to ignore him. ¡°We only have to show him that I am up to it. Like, if he had seen how I dominated that guard.¡±


    ¡°Look, I told him. The jobs I take ain¡¯t even hard, you are up to most of them,¡± said Zaber and shook his head frustrated. ¡°This ain¡¯t about skill.¡±


    They had many arguments like this these days and Torm couldn¡¯t bear it any longer. After they¡¯d arrived in Teblen, Zaber had amazing adventures. With and without Asher. They swooped in and took Teblen by surprise. And after the pecking order had been reshuffled, Zaber simply¡­ stopped. The better Torm got, the more docile became the man who took him in. Bashed some fodder now and then, while all the exciting events happened behind closed doors... for Asher to enrich himself. Zaber wasn¡¯t even getting soft, Torm knew well enough how he spent the night hours instead of sleeping. Physical strain, it seems, was the only thing that put a veteran¡¯s mind at ease.


    Torm was about to open his mouth, but didn¡¯t come far. ¡°Wh¨C¡± A meek squeak was all he got before the topic got changed and the silence was broken.


    ¡°Can you ask Kell what they reported to the Watch?¡± asked Zaber urgent. ¡°Don¡¯t wanna be surprised by the magistrates. Again.¡±


    ¡°Look¨C¡± said Torm, visibly upset. ¡°Whatever. Sure. If we caught heat over this, they won¡¯t le me go and you¡¯ll have to bust me out. Again.¡± That thought lightened the boy¡¯s mood. Watchmen were considered a joke among the more hardened members of the community. The ones in Westwatch above all. A bunch of bullies, pampered patrician sons who wanted to avoid the real draft. Or young men who had no other option but to earn a quick coin by betraying their own.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯re with me,¡± said Zaber and put his hands at his belt. ¡°And they know that. If you ain¡¯t back by sundown¨C¡± He could not but laugh.


    ¡°What you gonna do?¡± Torm¡¯s cheeks puffed up from a big smile. ¡°Waltz in and bust me out?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Zaber looked at his apprentice in jest. ¡°I¡¯ll ask real nice.¡±


    A loud squeal from afar informed them that Olef¡¯s apprentices and family were at work. Seems like they got their hands on something special. No doubt something that good was in the supply of Westwatch. Chicken from the surrounding villages, or small game and fish from the Reuwh River and Lake Teblen were their bread and butter. Even with a guild symbol imprinted on his shop sign, there were richer masters around. They that got their hands on better flesh first, with an iron grip on the market. Though, having a shop without being a guildsman was impossible anyway.


    After spotting the sign, a loud metallic rustling and foreign yells demanded the duo¡¯s attention ¨C and that of everybody else close-by. Zaber¡¯s hand twitched towards the hilt of his blade on instinct, as did Torm¡¯s with a delay. The younger one spotted the commotion in the crowd only by following his mentor¡¯s gaze.


    A young Yesilian man was dragged out of a tannery that worked closely with Olef. It was well known to enrich the street with a peculiar stench. Two guards, armored in gambeson and armed with cudgels, had the fella by the arms. The light setup meant that they were not on patrol and sought the foreigner out as a culprit. An even younger Yesilian girl followed them, struggling to hold her hands back from touching them. ¡°Yalvar?r?m!¡± she yelled over and over only interrupted by a heavily accented ¡°I beg you!¡± and ¡°A?abey!¡±


    Everything had come to a halt, with many a passersby forming an alley for the carry-off. Many were driven by curiosity, some with glee and some in dread. Watching how the blackheaded man, with a split lip, complied motionless. The girl was ignored but tolerated, until she put her hands on one of the guards, which earned her a heavy handed reply.


    ¡°Shut up, sandwhore,¡± said the guard. He spat in front of her before returning to carry out his duty.


    Torm¡¯s eyes were glued to the scene, where Zaber¡¯s narrowed again. There was no use in watching like the crows. Nothing to gain but anger and pain from their own impotence. In the end, even those two knew that they were just two single individuals, powerless in the face of¡­ whatever this was. Zaber tapped his apprentice to move on, or else the voice might become overwhelming again.


    ¡°How long are we getting away like this?¡± asked Torm after a couple of steps. ¡°I still don¡¯t get it. Why handle you with velvet gloves. At some point, they gotta get sick of it.¡± He looked distraught trying to ignore the sounds in the background.


    ¡°Maybe¨C¡± Zaber scratched the scar along his jawline. ¡°Maybe we should mess up some more guards.¡± He smiled at the thought.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± replied Torm and struggled to smile.


    ¡°I said don¡¯t worry.¡± Zaber tilted his head. His unkempt, greasy brown hair, the light shimmer on his oily skin and the six day stubble were the perfect look. Perfect for someone who¡¯d ambushed lawmen at night. Or ask for a loaf of bread and some spare coin, if the veteran wasn¡¯t armed the way he was. ¡°They¡¯re pissing themselves at the mere thought of what I bring to the table.¡±


    How could Torm not be infected with a crooked smile like that? It took a while before he learned how to read the man who took him in. But by now, everything about him was familiar. After all these years and with everything Zaber had done for him, how couldn¡¯t he be on board? In moments like these, Torm knew why they still stuck together and would still do so tomorrow. ¡°If you think so.¡± He laughed. ¡°Let them come at us.¡±


    Zaber had rarely spoken to Torm about his past. And when he did so, he did so with Asher, Buron and Breg present. The men who had served together for a decade. Torm could overhear them on some occasions, but Buron and Breg shunned Teblen, so it was mostly with Asher. The sordid veteran used to keep a closer eye on his apprentice and the boy had more opportunities to listen in. Before Torm¡¯s training stuck and he could take care of himself. Before he had friends or contacts of his own among the good folk of Westwatch. The only time he wasn¡¯t allowed to be around was when the magistrates visited every once in a while. When the Baronet of Teblen himself showed up once, and went by without any consequences. The only thing Torm knew, why Zaber was treated like a raw egg by officials, was that it had something to do with Airich of Belge. A name known throughout the Kingdom of Albion as the greatest military mind of his age.


    ¡°If Asher¡¯s little schemes aren¡¯t that demanding, what do you even do in them?¡± asked Torm, again. To break through the awkwardness. They will not get away with excluding him from valuable life lessons.


    Zaber sighed. ¡°Make sure they go well.¡± His voice had this grizzling undertone. ¡°He has his own fellas for the heavy lifting. I just back them up. Or hang out with Asher at whatever part he has planned for himself.¡±


    ¡°Is this¨C¡± stuttered Torm. ¡°Is he lonely and needs friend-time?¡± He withheld a laugh, even grabbing his mouth. ¡°Listen, I can read and even speak a little of the western Gal¨¢zian tongue¨C¡±


    ¡°I told you, I ain¡¯t asking. His goons are all from the other side of the border anyway. Eraldis or so, I dunno,¡± ranted Zaber unenaged. Until he stopped in front of Olef¡¯s butchery. Zaber cut at his own neck with a finger to signal that they should stop talking about this. For now.


    ¡°By the Kraken, why are you even helping him? He clearly doesn¡¯t need you. And we don¡¯t need the coin either.¡±


    The disheveled veteran stopped on his heel and faced Torm, a dead serious glint in his eyes. The intense stare that Torm had seen many times before but had never been able to replicate. This was the moment when someone was facing the consequences of their actions. And sometimes that someone was Torm. Even bigger was the boy¡¯s relief when Zaber¡¯s face turned into a smirk winked at him playfully.


    ¡°Cause you ain¡¯t letting down your friends,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Any. Ever.¡± He added, looking at the shop¡¯s sign. A silly rooster¡¯s head with a knife under its wattle. ¡°Let¡¯s go, you said you¡¯re hungry.¡±

 Chapter 3 - Day Two

    Chapter 3


    Day Two ¨C Afternoon


    ¡°Hello,¡± shouted a child, out of breath. ¡°You there. You! You are Zaber?¡±


    The bells of St. Hildemina struck to the hour, from the neighboring quarter of Kreitz. Zaber and Torm had just set foot back on the streets, arms filled with cured meat, sausages and loafs of rye bread. The shoddy bakery had not much to offer, as good harvests had not blessed them in quite a while. The pair¡¯s plan had been to visit Old Dalke¡¯s next and buy some cheap schnapps and get a new barrel of beer. Pay some extra, to make up for the trouble.


    ¡°Who asks?¡± Torm made room to have one free hand. The child was sweaty and wheezing, bent over, bracing hands on knees.


    ¡°That¡¯s Eger¡¯s boy, Ahne,¡± said Zaber and stepped forward. ¡°You ¡®aight?¡±


    It took some time before Ahne was able to straighten up. His wooden shoes were not made for running, and his pants were too wide. They were, most likely, handed down from an older sibling or cousin. He retied the rope that held his fringy little outfit together and wiped his neck.


    ¡°Papa sent me after you, I ran Magpie¡¯s up and down and all the alleys.¡± His eyes followed his words. ¡°Finally found you. I¨C¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the fuss about?¡± asked Torm rashly.


    ¡°I was about to say,¡± said Ahne miffed. ¡°Papa said there are guards in St. Heinmuth.¡±


    Zaber¡¯s and Torm¡¯s brows narrowed. They checked each other and then approached the child in cadence. The apprentice padded Ahne on the back, to help him regain his breath. Meanwhile, the mentor pushed the baked goods into his arms. Zaber fished out a quartered groschen from under his belt, to pay the messenger, and Torm handed over the meat.


    ¡°This is for you. Bring the rest to our place,¡± said Zaber and looked down the street. ¡°Don¡¯t hurry.¡±


    </a> ¡°Umm, thanks?¡± Ahne looked perplexed and was barely able to hold everything together in his arms. But he was not refusing an easy coin.


    ¡°How many¨C¡± Zaber scratched the scar along his jawline. ¡°And is the place still in one piece?¡±


    ¡°One patrol and damned I know. Is the place ever?¡± said Ahne.


    Torm fought a smile and shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s not wrong.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    The pair pushed their way through the folk on Magpie Lane and took a detour as soon as possible. Quick on their feet, the side alleys and backyards had less traffic and thus were their chosen route. Zaber expected them to have a magistrate with them, maybe even an officer of the watch. Best case, the sergeant of Westwatch would be among them. Worst case it¡¯s the captain or even the colonel in charge of all of Teblen¡¯s guardsmen. Or that damned Baronet, again. What would they even want from them? A couple of bruised nobodies in bumfuck Westwatch don¡¯t cause commotion like that. Not in broad daylight.


    The look on Torm¡¯s and Zaber¡¯s faces have darkened. Nobody they¡¯ve encountered in the backyards were courageous or quick enough to call them out for trespassing. The moment the duo got spotted, they were already gone.


    ¡°Do you think they brought hard steel?¡± asked Torm. He and his mentorwere in good shape. A spurt like this caused not more than a minor hiccup.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± said Zaber. ¡°You closed the hatch, did you?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I think,¡± pondered Torm. ¡°What¡¯s the plan? Any ideas?¡±


    ¡°I talk, you look mean. At least try.¡± Zaber¡¯s gaze was ahead of them, focused. ¡°Not easy with that face, I know. If anyone has good armor, you stay away from them. Even more so if it¡¯s a fancy arse gentry.¡±


    One last turn and they reached the middle of St. Heinmuth Street. A crowd had gathered around the greenery of the old temple¡¯s front yard. Six mailled men standing guard, with two horses tied to a tree. Many of the spectators looked quite cheerful. Only a few good neighbors around that knew Torm or Zaber by name. Front row, though, was manned with a couple of familiar faces. They wore red kerchiefs around their heads, necks or arms. Long knives and cudgels hung ominously from their belts. The guards and them stared at each other, in grim anticipation.


    ¡°There they are!¡± yelled a by-stander.


    ¡°The Kraken shall devour them,¡± added another.


    ¡°Rot, defiler, rot!¡± One man and woman screeched into Zaber¡¯s ear when they cut through the knot of folk and many more joined in unison.


    If it weren¡¯t for the intimidating presence of the Red Mob among them, one or two might have felt brave enough. But just as many understood that the men on duty were not their friends. They merely hated Zaber and Torm even more. The pair had talked this many times over, knew about the rumors ¨C and what the folk got right. ¡®Sleeping around with the blackheads¡¯, ¡®preying on their daughters¡¯, ¡®a drunken hoodlum¡¯, ¡®the man that never sleeps¡¯ and even ¡®arsefuckers¡¯. Where Torm would love nothing more than to correct them, his mentor was quite the opposite. It kept them away. Outside. May they think¡­ whatever. The fear of getting your teeth knocked out made Zaber¡¯s retirement pleasant.


    ¡°Good to have you around,¡± said Zaber as he walked past an oak of a man, wearing a red piece of cloth around his shaven head.


    ¡°Gotcha.¡± The man sounded as heavy and strong as he looked. ¡°This¡¯ our turf.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod. ¡°I¡¯ll sort this out.¡±


    A corporal stood in the center of the path that led inside the ruins, surrounded by old rubble. None of the guards stopped Zaber or Torm when they came closer. All of them were rather amused by the spite directed at the duo. Zaber inspected the horses and Torm followed his mentor¡¯s gaze. Bridle and saddle were sturdy yet artistic, fit to seat an armored man. These were no horses for a mere ride out, these beasts were bred for war. Zaber scratched the scar on his jawline once more and stuck his thumbs up his belt, close to arms. Torm was even more direct. He rested his hand on the hilt of his bauernwehr and fixed his hat one more time so it wouldn¡¯t fall off in a scuffle.


    ¡°Are we expected?¡± asked the boy with a smirk. His mentor moved right in front of the corporal, noses were about to touch and stares collided.


    The corporal smirked back. ¡°By the Stars, I hope they kill you,¡± he whispered and moved to the side.


    With a knowing side-eye, Torm and Zaber passed the guard into their home of four years. The corporal¡¯s bulldog mug was hard to remember under the kettle helmet, maille coif and padding. But, by the Stars, the next time they met, this man would lose a tooth or two. Or more.


    ¡°If they touched any of our junk, I swear to the Bear, I will¡­¡± Torm entered the vestibule. He swallowed his words when Zaber shunned him with a hiss. ¡°Or any of my books,¡± he whispered, then looked for clues if anybody used the stairs up the Sun Tower.


    A solemn and reserved melody drove chills through their spines. With each step, more and more hair stood up under their clothes, until they reached the altar room. Zaber, tense not just by his nature but by the magic made by human cords, examined what happened in front of them.


    ¡°Aquila ergo cum sedebit,


    Quidquid latet apparebit:


    Nil inultum remanebit.¡±


    The poor excuse for an interior that Zaber and Torm made a home from had been shifted around. The last remnants of benches rearranged to fit what a temple should look like. Two men of noble bearing awaited them. One, engrossed in prayer, knelt in front of the stone altar. The other stood guard next to it, facing them with watchful eyes. Even a fire was set up on the altar that exuded incense.


    Zaber rasped. ¡°I see, y¡¯all made yourself at home.¡±


    ¡°We still have some ale.¡± Torm kept one step behind his mentor. ¡°Or did you help yourself with that too?¡±


    Neither of them had been to a Lecture in the last four years, or heard any kind of religious verses sung. Strong emotions, the Fear of the Stars, was put in folk who heard them. Torm and Zaber recognized this one. It was about judgment.


    The knight at the altar, a perfect cavalier baritone, fell silent and unfolded his hands. No steel around either of them for protection. Getting on his feet, the man at the center of the room wore an arming doublet of fine fabric and vivid colors. His chaperone hat rested next to the fire bowl. A captain, judged by the fibula on his chest, but not of Westwatch, nor of any other district¡¯s watches. He and his lieutenant were from The Margrave¡¯s personal regiment, residing in and around the city.


    The captain¡¯s personal coat of arms was a meandering blue river on yellow ground, with a vertical blade in the middle. A sign that he was old nobility of the sword. So was his adjutant¡¯s, with a sun on sky blue ground, and a bow and arrow aiming upwards.


    The captain, though not much older than Zaber, possessed everything the greasy and unkempt man did not. Barbered, perfectly trimmed and combed blonde hair, with gray-blue eyes that complimented his good teeth. While everybody in this room had a strong built, Zaber was most often above the average man in height. But that knight towered half a head over him. And not a single scar.


    The lieutenant standing next to him was shorter by about a head''s length. Much more similar to Torm, but broader in figure. He looked much older than he was, with his coiffed red beard and hair smeared to the side in a fine manner. His skin looked much more akin to that of Zaber¡¯s and his old comrades, who had never lived an easy life. This knight wore an older, long and thick gambeson in the style of a surcoat. A leather cap with fine stitches, hid away inside his belt.


    Without a doubt, these were men of war, cavalry boots and all. Even though they were unarmored, they were not unarmed. And did not come in peace. With a heater shield tilted against the altar, the captain wore a decorated arming sword at his side. It bore an elaborate eagle-head pommel and much heraldic adorned the scabbard. The simpler bastard sword of the lieutenant did so too, as it was custom among the nobility to tell achievements, family history and fealty through it.


    ¡°Kneel down and introduce yourself,¡± commanded the lieutenant. A drum-like, far reaching bass.


    ¡°No need for formalities,¡± said the baritone. ¡°We know who we are dealing with. And we are the ones¨C¡± He paused, looking around in disgust. ¡°Trespassing. Are we not?¡± The weather, birds and vermin had left their marks everywhere. It seemed that they had cleaned the altar beforehand. The captain ran his gloved finger over the closest surface, through the muck. His disgusted face contorted into a bright white smile. ¡°Lovely home.¡±


    ¡°Damned right, you should introduce yourself to us,¡± barked Torm.


    Zaber¡¯s eyes were glued to the knight¡¯s weaponry, the way they moved, stood and imposed themselves onto him and Torm. On instinct, the boy mimicked the defensive stance taken by his mentor. Young and inexperienced, he¡¯d only seen one licensed patrician sing a spell yet. Listened to the Lectures and Songs of an Auror and Aurora when he was a child. But Zaber knew the real danger these men posed. He knew of their destructive potential, the raw power that came with their arts and tools. He had seen the best of them.


    The captain held his lieutenant back from lashing out against the impudence shown to them. ¡°Right, where are my manners,¡± he said and strolled through the room. ¡°I, for my part, am Sir Beotold of Ituna. Son and heir to Sir Bernrick of Ituna Manor. Captain of the second banner in His Most Honourable Margrave¡¯s personal regiment.¡± A smile flashed throughout his words. ¡°And,¡± he added. ¡°Two times champion of the summer tourney.¡±


    The way his titles, positions and achievements were presented triggered Zaber even more. The chanting rhythm, the emphatic singsong. With every tonal shift, the tension that filled his body rose and his fists began to hurt from the pressure. When Torm looked at his mentor, also keeping a keen eye on their visitors, he had never seen him as serious and focused.


    ¡°I am Sir Romund of Aulder,¡± said the lieutenant. ¡°Son of Isenbard of Aulder and in charge of the first lance of the second banner of His Most Honourable Margrave¡¯s personal regiment.¡± His words boiled in disdain, with a less flexible vocal range than his superior. But to someone who knew what they had to listen for, the threat beneath such a deep tone was imminent.


    ¡°Damned you want here?¡± Torm snapped back, again. His chest felt tied up, just from listening to them. And his stomach got more clenched with every step the captain took towards them.


    ¡°Get a grip on your brat,¡± said Romund and crossed his arms so that one hand could rest on the hilt of his bastard sword. ¡°Or I will.¡±


    Zaber looked at the boy. With nothing but a marginal widening of his eyes Torm understood that this was not the time to be a gobshite.


    ¡°Mind sitting with me.¡± Beotold invited Zaber, waving his hand.


    ¡°I mind,¡± said Zaber. But the brightening of the knight¡¯s smile and nudge of the his head reassured the veteran that this was not a question. ¡°Torm, guard the entrance.¡±


    The knight had already sat down before Zaber was able to finish his sentence. Tapping his palm over the wood right next to him. There was still plenty space in the altar room. The benches weren''t rearranged at the center, as it would be. The duo¡¯s personal belongings were sorted to the side. Next to the awful timberjob of a door that led to the sacristy. Did they rummage through it? Did they enter Zaber¡¯s or Torm¡¯s room? No. The altar still stood at its spot. They were not looking for something. They had set up a battlefield.


    ¡°Why so tense?¡± asked Beotold after Zaber fell in line. ¡°I got told you¨C¡± The knight sought eye contact with his second-in-command. ¡°What were the words?¡±


    ¡°Not. Violating. Any Laws,¡± repeated Romund.


    ¡°Ah, yes. Neither the King¡¯s nor the Margrave¡¯s.¡± The captain leaned back and let out one singular jab of a laugh. ¡°We are just here to talk. You have my word, no danger is looming above your heads.¡±


    Zaber rubbed the scar on the back of his hand before scratching the one on his jaw. His eyes twitched back and forth between his fist and the cold steel on his hips. It couldn¡¯t be helped. He first stared at Romund by the altar, before linking eyes with the knight next to him. The voice was strong today.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Ask your damned questions and let us be,¡± sighed Zaber. ¡°My days dealing with your kind are over. And that¡¯s how I want to keep it.¡±


    ¡°Tell me,¡± began the knight. ¡°What is your Birthstar? Living in this fine accommodation, worthy of your character, I believe you a pious man.¡± Beotold looked around the mess. The leaded windows depicting the Constellations, broken and tainted. A life-sized woodcarving of the patron saint, St. Heinmuth, should be towering behind the altar. Gone was everything sacred. ¡°Like your general was.¡±


    ¡°Rooster,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Or so I was told.¡±


    Beotold exhaled excited. ¡°Gallus. Very fitting. I was born an Aquila and Sir Romund an Ari¨¥s.¡± an approving nod accompanied his revelation to his fellow nobleman. ¡°But you, I am sure, have noticed that already.¡±


    Romund, of course, nodded back.


    ¡°What about your boy?¡± Beotold continued, causing much impatience.


    ¡°He¡¯s not my boy¨C¡± replied Zaber.


    ¡°Or a boy at all.¡± Torm interjected from behind. ¡°But a Stallion.¡±


    The bearded knight stepped forward from the altar and made Torm flinch. Zaber had his hand already on his weapon, ready to draw, but the stout nobleman halted.


    ¡°If the captain calls you a boy, you thank him,¡± ordered Romund. His hand clung to his sword.


    ¡°You and the Equus boy are not kin, are you? It seems, you have learned quite a lot from the Grand General. He also liked them young, didn¡¯t he?¡± Beotold¡¯s keen eyes cut deep into Zaber¡¯s stare.


    The greasy and unkempt man sighed long and exhausted, again. ¡°Airich has made me who I am. What I know, I know because of him. I teach the boy to be better.¡±


    ¡°Rumors have it that you are already very good. Better than you should be.¡±


    The knight¡¯s attention centered on Zaber and Zaber alone. Torm was of no concern to them and it irked the boy. For Zaber, though, this was the first opening to regain control and shift the battlefield. His only real power lay in the knowledge of Airich of Belge. The legends.


    ¡°He wanted me to carry his legacy. His dying wish,¡± said Zaber. ¡°The Baronet and his magistrates spoke to me about it already four years ago.¡±


    ¡°He is to be addressed as Sir Osrick, Baronet of Teblen,¡± barked Romund in a bloodcurdling bass. ¡°You have been a soldier, we know you are capable of the proper etiquette.¡±


    Torm stood right in front of the entrance, from the vestibule, to block it. His grinding teeth made the muscles beneath his peach fuzz bulk up. It seemed as if all corners of the altar room had wasp nests poking at one another. The only one who remained calm and collected was Beotold, with an everlasting show of his good teeth.


    ¡°We are all good men here, who¡¯ve served our lords well. Romund, my friend, you need to work on your patience,¡± said the captain. ¡°Zaber,¡± he turned his attention back to the main course. ¡°When you were blessed with Sir Osricks visitation, I assume, you spoke about the unfortunate departure of General Airich to the Stars? He had just died and¡­ many of his acquaintances missed the chance to give him their farewells. The realm was expecting a funeral with all honors.¡±


    ¡°He would have hated that,¡± said Zaber. ¡°If there was one thing he did not want, it was a gathering of all the folk he despised.¡±


    ¡°Even the High King, his dear childhood friend?¡±


    ¡°Especially his childhood friend, the King.¡± Zaber smiled bittersweet. It was like a stinger into his heart, that the man he served under still played such an important role. ¡°His own officers and family was already too much for him.¡±


    Beotold straightened his back and rested his hands on his lap, folding them as if in prayer. His eyes wandered up through the destroyed roof. ¡°You have served as his orderly and you were the last man who spoke to him. You surely had a special bond, didn¡¯t you?¡± He looked back at Zaber. ¡°Some of his belongings have been lost, not laid to rest next to him in his ancestral tomb. Are you sure that you know nothing about this?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Got my payout after eighteen years of enlistment, just like everybody else. Took the boy, began a new one.¡±


    ¡°You and this Asher,¡± Beotold paused. ¡°You have earned your freemen rights. We¡¯re all¨C¡± he smirked and gave Torm a side-eye. ¡°Nearly all men of war here. I respect that you shed blood in the name of our High King against Gal¨¢zians, Krasnians, Yesilians and the misguided. But what, by the Stars, are you doing with your life?¡±


    ¡°Whatever I damned want to,¡± replied Zaber. ¡°I¡¯m just peasant son, I have no obligati¨C¡°


    ¡°You misunderstand our visitation,¡± interrupted Beotold as he began to rise. ¡°You, indeed, are a mere peasant son. A great man took a liking to you, a troubled man ¨C an eccentric man. But a great man nonetheless. And what did you do with this opportunity, a once in a thousand for a mere peasant son?¡±


    Beotold stepped in front of Zaber so he could look down on him and revel in it. His second-in-command had twitched yet again, after the sordid excuse of a man that was Zaber had stepped out of line.


    ¡°I came here, personally, to confirm these rumors. Ever since you have arrived with this boy, you have kept up the guards and magistrates. And this is what I am finding? A dirty man, living in a pile of garbage, wasting his and his¨C¡± He looked at Torm. ¡°Apprentice pitiful existence. A veteran like you could have gotten good pay under any other banner or regiment. Even if it was just the watchmen. At least take the payout and become an honest man. Settle down, take a wife and make some new soldiers for your lords. With eighteen years of service, you could have afforded yourself a Yesilian servant. Or breeder.¡±


    Zaber fought the urge to stand up and face the knight. Not yet. His muscles twitched, his shoulders became hard as rock and his chest was tangled and pumped at the same time. All he wanted at this moment was¡­


    ¡°Sir Beotold,¡± the veteran withheld his anger. ¡°If there is anything I have learned from Airich, it is not to play by other folks¡¯ rules.¡±


    The captain stepped back and laid his hand on his heart. He laughed. ¡°I have to say, there is one more question I have to ask.¡±


    ¡°And then you leave?¡± Zaber understood and got on his feet. Finally, the voice could be answered. It¡¯s not like he could succeed, this time.


    ¡°When was the last time you have encountered the High Arts?¡± Beotold turned around.


    Zaber¡¯s brows were as narrow as it gets, his eyes screaming bloody murder. One last scratch at the scar along his jaw. ¡°In every war I fought. From every officer in charge. And from my General.¡±


    ¡°I asked when,¡± pressed Beotold.


    ¡°I have seen some constructs glow up every now and then,¡± said Zaber. ¡°But, you know¡­ I try not to breathe in too hard around them.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Beotold¡¯s grin returned. ¡°We know that you know. Ever fought the High Arts?¡±


    ¡°As much as anyone in formation. Line magicians and noblemen alike.¡±


    Torm did not know what kind of attraction Zaber had, but this pheasant dance happened all the time. Big chested, arms bent like they had knives under their armpits. Eyes that only saw each other. The boy had tried this kind of provocation in the past, but it always ended up more boastful and hectic. Whatever it was, Zaber¡¯s calm combativeness had something infectious. Other¡¯s broke under it, or mimicked it. No in-between.


    ¡°Any duels? Even with just warranted officers,¡± urged Beotold as the two circled each other.


    ¡°Line defense,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Two bouts,¡± he added. ¡°And whenever an enraged Dragon felt like Lecturing me.¡±


    Beotold flashed his bright whites right into Zaber¡¯s face. His lieutenant shifted behind the altar, but never let his guard down. Gaze fixated on the vagrant veteran and the valorous warrior that was his superior. Thrilled was the boy that kept watch over the door. This was his first up-close experience of a knight in action.


    ¡°Any wins?¡± was the question everyone in this room wanted to know. A question that had been all over Westwatch and Teblen¡¯s elite. And Beotold was out to settle it. He looked down on Zaber. Being a knight, he was bred for combat. Tall, strong in stature and a voice like a crystal. And not a single scar.


    ¡°No, obviously,¡± said Zaber. His face became a stone, his teeth pressed upon each other so hard that his bones were about to burst. A feeling filled his muscles, thrown back in time.


    ¡°I have been told about your¨C¡± Beotold halted. Their circling had lead him right to where he needed to be, with Romund and the altar in his back. ¡°Achievements. Why the Red Mob and the Morly brothers are at peace.¡±


    ¡°Morell brothers,¡± said Zaber.


    ¡°I. Don¡¯t. Care.¡± Beotold leaned forward with each word. ¡°I am here on behalf of My Lord, Margrave Greodor of Tunow-Aine himself, to confirm the rumors.¡±


    ¡°Fucking lead with that next time,¡± said Zaber, trying to mimic the vocal pace. He watched the knight turn his back at him. The tensed up former mercenary retreated a couple of steps and drew both his langes messer and stiletto.


    ¡°There will be no next time.¡± Beotold reached forward with his left arm so that Romund could strap on the heater shield.


    Zaber turned his head and looked at Torm. The boy shivered in anticipation and awe. ¡°Don¡¯t look away,¡± said the mentor and half-smirked for a moment. To remind his apprentice to stay focused and calm.


    ¡°Two rumors, I have been tasked to investigate. And I am a man that only trusts his own six senses.¡± Beotold drew his sword and turned around in one swift movement. Presented to the altar room , a blade of the finest steel, sharp and deadly. Carved into the fuller, a set of strange letters, unfamiliar to the uninitiated. Filled with a yellow mineral dust that faintly glowed when unsheathed.


    ¡°Ready, peasant son?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s see if I can really defeat anyone,¡± said Zaber. ¡°That¡¯s what they say, ain¡¯t it? No matter how many constructs y¡¯all got.¡±


    Without a warning, Zaber lunged himself forward, blade first. Getting blocked by the shield with ease. Beotold jabbed back with his magic sword, but got deflected to the side. Offensive was the language Zaber spoke. A routine of feeling each other out, where was the leverage of their crossguards, weight of their armament and strength in their cores. Effective distances were established. Both men circled each other once more, this time outside the deadly reach of their blades.


    ¡°It is called a C¨­nstr¨±ctus,¡± said Beotold in a spiteful melody. ¡°You are not fooling me. But your swordplay is magnificent. Want to give it a try?¡± He showed the flat of his blade so that Zaber got a good look at the arcane scripture. ¡°Maybe you want to don a more appropriate attire. Would be a shame¨C¡± He paused. ¡°If something happened.¡±


    ¡°I know it¡¯s constructo¡±, repeated Zaber. ¡°Shut it and fight, your noble yammerings have always irked me.¡±


    Never since they¡¯d come here had Torm seen Zaber matched like this. There were plenty capable hoodlums, mercenaries and prowlers, but only his old comrades Asher and Breg were his equal in direct confrontation. When Zaber struck again with the lange messer, the block was with as much ease as before. Steel slid over steel and got dangerously close to Beotold¡¯s face. Stabbed behind the ledge of the shield, Zaber tried to pull it open with his stiletto.


    </a> The short blade, made for mercy killing, wasn¡¯t able to overcome the shield. It was Zaber¡¯s most cherished possession. Wondering why Zaber fought in this way, a knightly bout, Torm knew that something was off. His mentor didn''t fight according to his strengths. A core lesson, repeated over and over to the boy in training.


    The crossguards of the swords connected and Zaber was about to leverage out for a cut. But Beotold had shifted his weight into the shield and pushed forward. ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s¡±, he sang. Pitch perfect, in a hall that was made to make noises spread far. Even without an intact roof, it still somewhat worked. A burst of raw power pressed against the knight¡¯s foe, from the surface of his shield.


    Before Zaber could finished what he had set out to do, he got overwhelmed, his feet lifted from the ground. Thrown against a wall, the veteran¡¯s lungs emptied themselves. But no matter how much pain surged through his back; when he hit the wall, he did not scream.


    A silent gasp left Torm¡¯s open mouth at the same moment. They had fought the tall and strong types before, but none of them were capable of such feats. For someone who had never seen the terrifying might possessed by a knight, like Torm, this was utterly bizarre. No folks could do this. Nobody should be able to do this. How can someone even win against this?


    The vibrations of the spell were still visible. Remnants akin to distorted air on a hot summer surface. Zaber¡¯s eyes and lips puckered. He fell on his feet and braced himself against the wall to not topple over. This was a good refresher to his memory. There were no effective threat ranges in a fight against a knight like Beotold.


    ¡°No need to hold back,¡± said Beotold and opened his arms to present his full physique. ¡°Come at me, like I¡¯m one of your tavern brawls.¡± His smile was unbroken.


    Zaber flicked his wrist and threw his stiletto right at the captain¡¯s face. Very few fighters were able to react quickly enough to a surprise at this range. And it showed on Beotold¡¯s face.


    Within a moment of shock, a quick verse of melodic words were chanted, yet again. ¡°D¨¡ mihi¨C¡± As if space bent around the knight¡¯s voice, his entire body moved at an abnormal speed. ¡°Celerit¨¡tem!¡± A shift to the side and a swat with his shield followed. Short, precise, and at the last breath. The metallic ¡®clings¡¯ and ¡®clangs¡¯ of the needle dagger ricocheted through the altar room. Soon followed by another attack. Zaber front kicked the shield with his entire being.


    A noble adversary, adept at swordplay and the High Arts, now off balance. This wasn¡¯t Beotold¡¯s first real fight either. He fell back on his instincts, blocking the next strike blade on blade. Regaining control with steady footing. This Zaber, a common soldier, had nearly gotten the better of the captain for one breath, but¡­


    Ptui.


    Disgust swept through Beotold¡¯s face and body. The cheers of the boy were nothing but a distant noise when Beotold lost his composure. Everything went blank. Spit forced his eyes to close and a fist hit him right in the mouth. Their blades were still bond together when he tasted a split of blood.


    Zaber was not making the same, arrogant, mistake as Beotold has. He never did. He always kept the pressure when he had the advantage.


    A couple more clumsy attacks were exchanged and Beotold hid behind his shield. Beaten down, until he lashed out strong and wide. Beotold forced Zaber to retreat, both still haggard from the one unarmored hit they took. But Zaber had already set himself up. To strike around the blinded knight¡¯s defense. Killing was out of order, no matter how loud the voice was, but this was in need of a quick settling. No element of surprise anymore. Another punch landed, right at the captain¡¯s liver.


    ¡°Scum!¡± yelled Beotold. Even in pain, his voice did not crack. ¡°Voc¨­ tonitr¨¥!¡±


    Zaber¡¯s eyes widened. No matter how well he lied, he couldn¡¯t fall back on his own croaking voice. All he could do was pull up his blade and support it with his free hand at the flat. To brace himself with all his might. The veteran even saw the scripture on the fine blade flaring up and emit an underlying smoke. It burned through the topmost layer and a cracking thunder erupted when steel hit steel. Catapulted to the side, Zaber shot through the benches. A violent ¡®boom¡¯ shattered the last glass panels the temple had left. It wandered far into Westwatch for everyone to hear. Everyone except Zaber, who couldn¡¯t even hear the wood break around him when he crashed into it. All he could hear was a sharp tingle.


    ¡°Zaber!¡± Torm left his post and ran.


    Beotold wiped his eyes and hammered his sword back into its scabbard. He looked down at Zaber and Torm, in disgust. Turned away so that Romund could unstrap the shield. The lieutenant was just as angered, but seeing Zaber struggle to get out of the pile of planks brought a smile to his face.


    ¡°Consider this rumor¨C¡± Beotold wiped his face again. ¡°Settled,¡± he said and walked towards the exit. ¡°Know your place and stay down, peasant son.¡±

 Chapter 4 - Day Two

    Chapter 4


    Day Two ¨C Evening


    The arming cap and short brown gambeson Zaber always wore had lessened the damage from the crash. He also knew how to break a fall and protect his vitals when faced with defeat, to prevent the worst. Still, a cut above his brow had bled into his left eye and his brain got rattled. Torm tended to Zaber¡¯s wounds with an old piece of cloth and water from the barrel. The lacerations had finally closed and Zaber sought wisdom from the Stars in a clouded night. It looked like rain.


    ¡°Should we pack and move?¡± asked Torm. ¡°Maybe hide?¡±


    The altar room was back in order. Spring was still on the rise and a fire was needed to not freeze. The knights didn¡¯t steal anything, but all rooms were probed. The boy and the bum sat on the ground, with their belts and gear resting at the side. What¡¯s left of their ale would not survive this evening, for sure.


    ¡°No,¡± said Zaber. His eye twitched from a strong headache and he struggled to focus. ¡°They didn¡¯t come to kill or arrest us. Either could have done that with ease. Airich¨C¡± He squinted to regain sight. ¡°Airich¡¯s secret is holding up. I have the upper hand¡­ still.¡±


    After finishing up Zaber¡¯s wounds, Torm ripped a piece of bread from a new loaf. It switched hands a few times, as did old mugs. No smiles, no laughter. Just thoughts and voices.


    ¡°It¡¯s all about Airich, isn¡¯t it?¡± asked Torm. ¡°Ever since we came here.¡±


    ¡°Ever since we left the regiment.¡± With only some Stars of Bear visible, Zaber found himself unable to see much behind the thin veil and clouds. Even the waxing Red Sister and waning White Sister were hiding from him. ¡°You don¡¯t know who he was,¡± lamented Zaber. ¡°For the better. He made sure everything was about him.¡± He closed his eyes for a moment, and sighed. ¡°And it still is.¡±


    ¡°You made sure we never met,¡± said Torm and ran his hands through his hair. He averted Zaber¡¯s eyes and followed his gaze into the sky. ¡°I might get it now.¡±


    ¡°No you don¡¯t,¡± Zaber said. ¡°If you ever do, I failed.¡±


    Frustration built up in Torm and it showed by how he chewed on another piece of bread. Fixing his hair over and over and rubbing his fists, he waited for a real answer. For an explanation. For anything. To be a part of this. To help the man who had helped him so much.


    ¡°Is it about the chest? They have all this wealth already, what would they even do¨C¡± Torm kicked a log into the kindling.


    Zaber took another bite. ¡°It¡¯s about all of it. Men like me ain¡¯t supposed to have it.¡± His voice was softer than usual. Even thoughtful, if it wasn¡¯t for the smacks and chews. ¡°It¡¯s the power they hold over us and those who they allow to get a piece of it.¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t you tell me?¡± Torm stood up and walked on the spot, stomping his feet. ¡°Are we not in this together? I am sick of¨C¡±


    ¡°Shut up and trust me, ¡®aight?¡± Zaber looked at Torm. He tried to get on his feet, but he had not regained proper control over his knees. ¡°It¡¯s best if only I know. And we ain¡¯t leaving Teblen. Asher is here. Buron and Breg are just around. Do you want to leave Kell and Sagir and the other¡¯s behind? We have made good friends This is a good place.¡±


    ¡°You agree with Asher, don¡¯t you? You also don¡¯t believe I¡¯m up to it,¡± said Torm and poured himself another drink. An attempt to calm down. ¡°I¡¯ll be eighteen in four constellations. A year ago, I could have joined a free or the princely banner already. Or sought out the guilds.¡±


    Zaber stared at his apprentice long and good with no emotions to show. Waiting to get Torm¡¯s full attention back and not a word before that. ¡°If you ever think about that again, I am going to break your legs.¡±


    Torm chugged his mug in one go. ¡°Not in your current condition,¡± he smirked.


    ¡°Listen,¡± said Zaber and tried to get up again. ¡°Guards ain¡¯t taking you. Margrave¡¯s regiment ain¡¯t taking you either. And the Sellsword Guild wants some reputation or experience first. With my name attached, all of them would refuse. And the next free banner, I think, is two earldoms over.¡± Zaber smirked too, through the pain. ¡°And I never taught you how to ride good.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s good enough, I¡¯m a quick learner.¡± Torm reached out to his mentor and helped him up. ¡°But please, let me help you next time. I can do mor¨C¡±


    ¡°Psht.¡± Zaber¡¯s ears shifted through the room and his eyes followed along.


    ¡°Don¡¯t psht me! You can¡¯t treat me like a kid forev¨C¡±


    The greasy and unkempt man went for a wall to brace himself on. ¡°Folk are coming.¡±


    There weren¡¯t many visitors to this Starforsaken place since the duo had moved in. Other homeless men and women had used it for shelter before. A kestrel nested in the remnants of Sun or Moon Towers once a year, around this time. The ruins smelled moldy and gloom had befallen them. If someone came here, they were either friend or foe, no in-between.


    The boy¡¯s head snapped towards the entrance. He jumped to their weapons but his belt was all tangled up. Zaber¡¯s, though, was perfectly in order for quick access to the lange messer. Fucking nothing this man owned was ever in order, except¡­


    ¡°We need to talk,¡± said a female voice with a subtle accent. ¡°Not fight.¡±


    From the darkness stepped forth a woman in a loose black dress, a veil wrapped around her head and neck. A glimpse of her black hair peeked out above her forehead. An old stab scar through her cheek stood out, with a nose as strong as her eyes. Her face was chiseled like sandstone.


    ¡°Damned you be, Hanifa,¡± said Zaber, and Torm let go of the steel. ¡°We are bus¨C¡±


    The woman quickened her pace to step right in front of the pair, each step harsher than the last. Around Zaber¡¯s age, Hanifa was not alone. Her companion, at least twice as old as she was, stayed back and said nothing. Hairy and stout, with arms like tree trunks and a belly like a barrel. Clad in long, elegant robes that were held together by a cloth belt.


    ¡°Damned me? Damned you!¡± snapped Hanifa. Her backhand trembled, withholding a slap. ¡°They got Sagir. Because of you, they took Sagir.¡±


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    Silence swept through the room. The fire illuminated Hanifa¡¯s face and highlighted every furious wrinkle. Every remnant of tears that were shed. Confronted with this news, from this woman, Torm¡¯s mouth opened but no gasp left. The shock chained his lungs. The looming threat behind Hanifa shared a facial expression with Zaber, after the veteran heard the news. Like stone, every muscle hardened and his eyes were filled with a boiling heat. The voice flooded every fiber of his consciousness.


    ¡°What?¡± was the only word Torm and Zaber were able to express. Both sounded vastly different. Confused and aggressive. Restrained and unbound.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you ¡®what¡¯ me.¡± Hanifa¡¯s face came closer and closer, her hand trembling next to Zaber¡¯s cheek. ¡°You brought him to that beyaz? ale house. You couldn¡¯t resist yourself,¡± she huffed. ¡°You smashed that guard¡¯s head.¡±


    Torm¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That¡¯s why they were here,¡± he uttered.


    ¡°You will attend our Ma?lis tomorrow. Two candles after sunrise,¡± ordered Hanifa. ¡°Understood?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Zaber affirmed the order without a second thought. The answer was as clear as lake Teblen.


    Unease radiated from the man waiting at the entrance. Torm saw that he had a hulking piece of timber with him, hidden around the corner. The Yesilians in the city were free to move in daylight, but never leave Teblen¡¯s walls behind or go out after dark. A breach of the curfew like this, though, wasn¡¯t an uncommon occurrence. Among their kind were some who dabbled in the shades to help their community to survive. Without much compensation ¨C if any. Whether there was one thing the Yesilians of Teblen were known for, it was that they stuck together.


    Torm stepped forward. ¡°He is wounded, I can come in his stea¨C¡±


    ¡°Am I talking to you, boy?¡± Hanifa didn¡¯t even look at Torm. She was still fighting the itch in her hand. ¡°He did it and by your and our Stars, he will come. If it weren¡¯t for your help in the past, I would have Kovada carry metal, not wood.¡±


    The boy swallowed and froze. Everybody in the ruined temple awaited her to strike, and Zaber would have welcomed it. The intensity of his stare was unlike anything Torm was used to. Never had he seen Zaber like this. Never did he imagine him so close to¡­


    ¡°I¡¯ll be there. I will come and I will fix this.¡± Zaber nodded but lost balance and Torm rushed to his side. ¡°By your Stars and by mine.¡±


    ¡°Promise me,¡± said Hanifa and lowered her hand. ¡°You have kept all your promises. Promise me one more time¡­¡± She averted her eyes and looked up at the veiled firmament. ¡°He will not join Ceyhan among the Stars.¡±


    ¡°He will not,¡± said Zaber. ¡°I¡¯ll not let him meet his brother yet.¡±


    Hanifa bit her lips in pain before she lowered her gaze. Torm glimpsed into what she held back and it was contagious. He let Zaber brace himself onto his shoulder and made a promise too. To himself. Sagir was his friend too, even more so than he was Zaber¡¯s.


    The unexpected visitor turned around and moved. ¡°Tomorrow. Two candles after sunrise¡±, she repeated. Near the entrance, she paused but did not turn. ¡°You look like shit¡­ go to sleep.¡±


    The big man, Kovada, made room for Hanifa to pass by but remained behind. No words or emotions to read. Nothing but vigor. He grabbed his timber, plain and heavy, and made away with it.


    Zaber¡¯s eyes were fixated on the altar and his apprentice saw the gears shifting behind them. When the veteran took an unsteady step towards it, the boy held him back.


    ¡°You were bitching at me,¡± said Torm. ¡°I was going overboard? Me? What happened?!¡±


    As if he didn¡¯t notice, Zaber walked on. Staggered, yet determined. Still filled with anger, Torm couldn¡¯t bear to see him like this and came to help.


    ¡°How could this happen? What was going on in your ugly noggin?¡±, the boy yelled on, through Zaber continuing. Torm grabbed him once more, restraining him before he touched the hatch to the cellar. Shouting into his ear. ¡°Listen to me! Damned, stubborn, blasted¡­¡±


    ¡°You need to talk to Kell when I¡¯m meeting with Hanifa tomorrow,¡± said Zaber, lost in thought. Stepping forward, it was hard to tell if he was shaking from injury or turmoil.


    ¡°Are you even listening?!¡±


    ¡°I will get you enough coin for horses. Buy, don¡¯t rent.¡± The greasy and unkempt man was unable to pull up the hatch, so Torm gave him another hand.


    ¡°Stop ignoring me! Stop it!¡± The boy yelled into his mentor¡¯s ear. ¡°How could this happen to you?!¡±


    Out of nowhere, the tense veteran regained his consciousness and lashed out, pushing Torm away with one arm. Both their chest were pumping and their postures were boasted. They stood front to front. Filled with anger. Ready to¡­


    ¡°I said I will fix this!¡± Zaber¡¯s fists clenched. ¡°I punched us into this, and I will punch us out.¡± His teeth were grinding and his head was nothing but the voice.


    ¡°No you won¡¯t! We will do it. You are not doing this alone,¡± said Torm and came nose to nose with Zaber. Both huffed their anger at each other.


    ¡°I know,¡± said Zaber. ¡°I will get Asher, Breg and Buron involved. I will fix this.¡±


    ¡°And me. You and I, we will do this together.¡± Torm¡¯s knuckles went all white and red before he threw his arms up. He and Zaber squeezed each other, so hard. With closed eyes, they padded each other on the back. ¡°You won¡¯t leave me behind.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t. I¡¯ll never do that to you.¡±

 Chapter 5 - Day Two

    Chapter 5


    Day Two ¨C Dawn


    ¡°Nene,¡± said Sagir in his native tongue. ¡°Nene, wake up.¡±


    He knelt beside his grandmother¡¯s bed, put his hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. His motions and eyes were tired, and slow. The same old and unwashed tunic he always wore was held together by a brighter cloth belt he just tied.


    The first rays of light filled the room and the Sun Maiden kissed the old woman awake. ¡°G¨¹nayd?n, my light,¡± she said half-asleep. A life of routine made her get up, but Sagir¡¯s hands were a welcome help.


    ¡°G¨¹nayd?n, Nene. We have to go, I overslept,¡± said Sagir in a rush. He had his grandmother¡¯s cheap excuse for a kaftan and veil readied. It was hard to get by authentic fashion of their homelands, so they made do with whatever they had. Many wore the same clothes as the beyaz? did, but Nene made her own and she did it well.


    Sagir had brought them into a precarious situation, but there was no time to explain. On a normal day, they would have drank and ate some leftovers. Get washed and dressed before sunrise, so that they could leave the house with the bells. If they were out before the curfew, the same kind of trouble as of last night might occur. But being late for work was just as bad.


    ¡°You were out late, I was so worried,¡± said Nene. She caressed Sagir¡¯s face with much care, looking deep into his eyes. She was happy to see him. ¡°Were you out with Ceyhan? Where is he?¡±


    ¡°He is already gone, Nene. Here¨C¡± Sagir helped her dress. ¡°The sun is rising, we need to go.¡±


    The one-room shack they called their home was nothing anybody would call big. Made from planks nobody else would buy, hammered together with junk nails and furnished with oddments. Heating came from a small stove that couldn¡¯t last an entire night. A small table with stools and two beds with one hammock that was still swinging.


    The second bed had no covers, no straw mattress, no hay-bundle and no warmth. An old rug with an improperly knitted motif of two elderly parents caring for the Sun. The man dressed in all white and the woman in all red. The roles of the main celestial bodies were reversed in Yesilian culture, yet similar.


    On it rested a shirt, trousers, shoes, a belt and a striped turban, folded into human shape. On the headboard, remnants of molten wax made their way to the ground. Sleeves wrapped around a sturdy quarterstaff, carved with foreign letters and symbols.


    There was no time to be sad, though. Torn between her tardiness, his tiredness and the subliminal terror of being late, there was only one option; press on. Return the favor to Nene from when Sagir was but a child, new to this life of bondage. She had been in Teblen for so long and taught so many new arrivals the ropes, that nobody in their community would forgive Sagir if he let her down. They might not be of blood, but damned did he love her. As did Ceyhan.


    ¡°Come, take a sip,¡± he said and lifted a cup to her lips. ¡°We¡¯ll eat some bread on the way.¡±


    They hurried out and Sagir wrapped his arms around her shoulders so that she would not get lost or left behind. Nene was such a small woman and grew only smaller with each year. Breathing was hard with the dry bread stuffed into his cheeks. Looking for his own steps and Sagir guided Nene, as well as making sure that she ate. Doing both at the same time wasn¡¯t an easy task. But all others in Ye?il Street had already left. The houses were empty, except for those who had the rare luxury of being exempt.


    The journey to their mistress¡¯ spinning shop led them northwest to the second main road through Westwatch, Sheann¡¯s Burn. Named after a famous resident, Moonshine Sheann, who caused the Great Fire of 366. Fifty years ago, soon, on the day of Fire Festival. Sagir held his head low and made no eye contact. Gladly, there was no need to tell this to Nene, it was second nature to her. And as she lived more and more in the past these days, the most solidified habits were the ones that stuck.


    One patrol of guards, on their last round of the night shift, were what they needed to avoid. A blessing in disguise, the last shift was better than the first shift in the morning. Motivation was low, folks were tired. But not tired enough for one last stop, it seems. Fortunately, Sagir and his Nene were not their victim, but another poor soul. Some stranger in rugged clothes lay out cold in his own vomit. Perhaps he had an even better night than Zaber had, thought Sagir. All could¡¯ve ended worse, it seems.


    ¡°O?lum, it is quite bright,¡± said Nene. Her gaze wandered without aim. ¡°Are we late?¡± she panted.


    ¡°We are.¡± Sagir smiled at her. ¡°I overslept, Nene. I am sorry, but we need to hurry.¡±


    They crossed an older man in his undergarments. He emptied his chamber pot into the gutter in the middle of the street. When least expected, his hand reached for Sagir and nearly made him trip. ¡°Speak Albinian!¡± yelled the man. Sagir and his Nene tried to move on in silence, but the man¡¯s wrath had been awakened. His mustache trembled when he screamed: ¡°Are you ignoring me?! Who¡¯s your master?!¡±


    Sagir¡¯s steps slowed down until he came to a halt. His shoulders shivered from the words thrown at his back. He stared at the ground, his facial muscles clenched and eyes closed. They were losing precious time. The guards looked at them and fear spread through Sagir¡¯s stomach. A fear that only stopped when he felt Nene¡¯s warm body move. The young man¡¯s eyes opened when he heard the voice of his beloved old caretaker.


    ¡°I beg forgiveness,¡± said Nene. She danced the dance that kept her alive for decades. Bowed down meek and submissive. No stutter, even though she had not mastered the language of her owners after half a century. ¡°Grandson does not know better. He young and foolish. I will handle him and pass advice to mistress and master, so they decide for punish.¡±


    Describing the man in his undergarment as affluent or snobbish would have been a lie, no matter the attitude. His clothes were as dirty as Sagir¡¯s and the house he stood in front of was in desperate need of mending. The man was a true exemplar of Westwatch, as he poured away the last drop of his night¡¯s piss and waved them off, grumbling.


    For Sagir, this was the first smile of the day; moments like this showed him that he still had years left with Nene, good years even. There was no reason to trust their mistress¡¯ and her husband¡¯s good will, but as long as she functioned, she was safe. They also reached the only part of town where they could ease down for a moment. Zaber and Torm were still, for sure, asleep at this early. But if another arsehole would act up now, he only needed to cause a lot of commotion to wake them. A big enough fuss would lure them outside and scare whoever dared touch him away. Folk knew that the heathen that occupied it was unpredictable and dangerous. Or at least, that is what proper folk believed. Some of them had heard the defiler was close to the Yesilian community. For reasons that Sagir kept secret from his Nene. For Ceyhan¡¯s memory¡¯s sake. But most importantly, only a few knew that he and Zaber were involved directly. Nobody would assume a bum would knock them around because of him.


    That moment was over too fast. The Watch became visible right around the corner, after turning into Magpie¡¯s. Where Ruins Street was the part of town Sagir could be most at ease, the quarter¡¯s namesake was where his shoulders became painfilled.


    Men, women and children alike left their homes and started their daily routines. Sagir remembered that his father thought the gatekeepers to be as lackluster as many thought the watchmen of Teblen. Another thing that the subjects of the Albinian King had in common with the Sultan¡¯s of Devleti Ye?ilin. But for his kin, every beyaz? was dangerous and the guards double so.


    Over two hundred lived in bondage in Teblen and many more were born by the day. Brought as prisoners of war from the First and Second Yesilian Crusade. Only those whose masters were of noble birth or part of the Guild Council were spared from the thugs-under-banner. One of their own, a girl named Da??, was bound to the colonel¡¯s household. Rumors had it, he was the only one who saw real battle and was thus rewarded this position. Members of their community like her and Kovada kept the Ma?lis informed. For this great service, special privileges were a given. Ceyhan used to be among them too and Sagir himself got some benefits for staying close to Zaber. The violent stranger had proven to be a most valuable asset, second only to Madam Marghe, their sole true ally in these foreign lands.


    The windows were open to let in the fresh spring air, but no guards were around Westwatch or it¡¯s stables. Some recruits or servants without arms walked around the workshop. They were too hectic and concerned with themselves to even look at Sagir and his Nene. The old woman was swifter on her feet now that she had a wake-up call. Sagir drove her through the streets as quick as possible, looking outto not make her trip. Or to look suspicious.


    They entered Kreitz, marked by an old border stone, and the paved paths soon looked better. Their mistress and master loved to tell the story of their family. Kreitz used to be a separate village, from which they stemmed, making their spinnery one of the oldest in Teblen. And when Sagir and his Nene finally reached this oh so old business, a heavy burden was lifted from the young man¡¯s shoulders. It was still closed, nobody came before them.


    The Yanners, the family who owned this shop, lived right above it. A tall, four-story half-timbered house with Lecture verses painted along the beams. They blessed it with longevity and it had nice red tiles. Pots with flowers and sage hung from all seven windows above ground level. Two for each room of the narrow build, with one for the attic. Their guild sign was a handcrafted carving of a yarnball. The strings spelled out their family name in the common script.


    A barely body-wide passage between the neighboring house led to a cramped backyard. It had its own gutter to the city¡¯s sewage system and another gardening patch for more herbs. Hidden between some planks was a key. If it were ever found missing, the mistress made sure that Sagir and his Nene knew who the prime suspects were. If they wanted to keep their hands and fingers, they better make sure it never got stolen by anyone.


    As expected of them, they came in first to bring the shop in order, so that work could begin when the real folk arrived. Nene was charged with setting up the spinning wheels and Sagir had to clean the front. Make sure the samples, dyes, and wool were rolled out, and make everything presentable. The rest of the day was spent running errands and doing all the heavy lifting that neither the mistress, her husband, son, nor daughters wanted to do.


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    First to arrive was Sula with her daughter, a frail but tall blonde that just hit her thirtieth. She wore the same style of dress every day, with tinned buttons instead of lacings. A rather fashionable choice, with the edges of her petticoat peeking out at the wrists and collar, tucked and with self-made cutwork. She owned at least three of them; brown, green and ochre. But Nene swore that she had seen her in a bright red one on a holiday Lecture.


    She and her daughter wore matching bonnets. Leda, the girl, was in a plain-colored dress with plenty room to further grow. She was on the brink of becoming a woman and had her mother¡¯s height and hair. But it was apparent that she was a better eater and quite healthy.


    ¡°Good. Morrow. Cildir,¡± said Sula, slowly, to Nene. ¡°Are. You. Done. Threading?¡± Her voice was loud enough to be heard the other room over.


    Leda stood in silence behind her. When the old woman greeted them with a bow she returned the courtesy, donning a shy smile.


    Four spinning wheels with small stools, placed in the barren backroom of the shop. A lamp flickered on a cabinet with tools to spare. Little space was left, barely enough to walk and work. The rest of the floor was covered with raw wool and flax, some of which was already dyed.


    ¡°Yes, Misses Sula,¡± said ??ld?r. She lowered her head and pointed at the devices. Fiddling around with the spindles and other moving parts to show that they were ready to go.


    ¡°Very good.¡± Sula spoke to her daughter at a normal pace and clapped once. She turned, nodded and smiled at Leda and directed her at one of the stools. ¡°Let¡¯s start, Mistress Yanner expects us to finish before Noon. And I want to visit Sonora¡¯s Market for supper.¡± Her posture was straight and decent, her experienced hands and feet got the spinning wheel moving fast. She even found the time to correct Leda¡¯s pose and demeanor. Assured that her eyes wouldn¡¯t wander off or become unfocused.


    ¡°Be blessed by Father Sun,¡± cheered a muted voice that entered the door with a snap. ¡°Sula.¡± An older, larger woman, with her salt and pepper hair braided at the ears, greeted her peers. She wore a barbette to cover her head and a white and azure dress that had been mended more than once and showed no skin. ¡°Sunshine,¡± she added and smiled at Leda.


    ¡°Blessed be you.¡± Sula smiled back, toiling away as she spoke.


    ¡°Good Morrow, Misses Glenne,¡± said Leda meekly.


    Glenne was a decade or more older than her colleague. She went straight for the equipment, running her fingers over every moving part. Rubbing all the threads, she even inspected the stool prepared for her. Curious moans and groans accompanied her acts. She knelt on the floor to assure that everything was right, with the old foreign woman waiting patiently in the only free corner of the room. When Glenne got up, her face turned ordinary.


    ¡°Good work, Cildir.¡±


    ??ld?r, the woman called Nene by those who loved her, only sat down and began to work after everyone else had taken a seat. She bowed down and was grateful for the praise from Glenne and made sure to do more good work. But never better than Misses Glenne or Misses Sula. It was a delicate line that she had perfected to balance in half century away from her homeland.


    The bell in the shopfront chimed right after ??ld?r took sat down and she heard the voices of her O?lum and the young master. Sagir entered the backroom, carrying small crates that were filled with more spindles. Right behind him was an equally young man, with good and sturdy clothes and an embroidered felt cap. He wore it playfully skewed to the side, as it was the fashion among young men right now.


    ¡°Put them in the upper left one,¡± ordered the young man.


    ¡°Yes, young master.¡± Sagir did as he was told. Yes, young master.¡± Sagir did as he was told. After a quick rub of his finger-width long black hair, with the gruesome scar along the parting, he began.


    The young master, meanwhile, strolled up to his mother¡¯s employees.


    ¡°Be blessed by Father Sun, young master Paun¡±, said Glenne. She had tried to greet him as soon as he entered, but did not want to talk over him and shut her mouth again.


    ¡°Young master.¡± Sula poshed up. ¡°Looking as fashionable as always.¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± smiled Paun. ¡°I am not a master yet. Simply doing my mother¡¯s busy work.¡± He winked flirtatious and ignored ??ld?r. ¡°How are the husbands, plenty work?¡±


    ¡°Ohh¨C¡± Glenne gasped and waved the question away. ¡°Fine, everything¡¯s fine. Konny¡¯s hand is healing, I just need to get some extra work done.¡± A strategic gloom rose in her voice and the speed of her spinning wheel increased.


    ¡°Benno and our son are working on the new tilings of St. Willhardt in Munth. They¨C¡±, said Sula but was left aside.


    ¡°Haha, about time that old temple got a makeover. Mayhaps they¡¯ll do Westwatch next, right?¡±, bawls Paun and everyone laughed. The older women laughed so loud that Leda¡¯s giggle got burrowed. Even ??ld?r chuckled, like the survivor she was, and her gaze pierced Sagir to fall in line. But he did not and turned his face away from the beyaz? instead.


    ¡°So how is the little miss? She¡¯s doing good?¡± Paun closed in on Sula and even more so on her daughter. He rested his hand on the girl¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°A blooming flower,¡± said Sula and smiled. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the young master¡¯s hand and his face.


    ¡°Nice,¡± smirked Paun and winked at Leda. ¡°Well, as invigorating as it is to talk to all of you, someone has to look out for customers,¡± he said with one more sweep along the girl¡¯s arm. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to come back. Later.¡±


    By the time Sagir finished, all darkness had been driven away by the sun. The chime of the door¡¯s bell signaled plenty shoppers. Glenne ordered the young man with the gruesome scar to not waste any more oil and quench the lantern. But he had to put it down as fast as he picked it up when the young master¡¯s head peeked into the room.


    ¡°Sagir, there are some folk who would like a word with you.¡±


    Sagir¡¯s eyes met those of his Nene. When the beyaz? wanted something, following was the only option. It never meant anything good, either more work or they were not satisfied with finished work.


    ¡°Yes, master,¡± said Sagir and entered the shopfront. ¡°What can I¨C¡± He ceased to speak and breathe, like a young deer. Left, right, and left again, he looked. His body screamed to run, but the only exit was behind him¡­ and that was where Nene was. Two guards, in gambeson, kettle helmets and blunt-studded maces at their hips. They approached him. They even brought the sergeant and an officer of Westwatch. Sagir¡¯s mouth hung open and there was no conscious thought behind his actions. Retreating, his fingers tore into the fabric on his skin.


    ¡°This is the man you are looking for, Lieutenant Leowig,¡± said Paun and stepped aside.


    ¡°Your family will be compensated by the Baronet,¡± said the lieutenant in a lyric tenor. Dressed in a fine, embroidered waistcoat, expensive riding boots and armed with a lavishly decorated sword. It¡¯s scabbard only showed the crest of the city, a blue lake with a black castle-bridge, and his own: a patrician¡¯s coat of arms, presenting the trade of his family. A red ship with three fishes above it. ¡°Thank you for the cooperation,¡± he added, adjusting the fibula that showed his rank. ¡°Arrest that murderous animal.¡± His voice was filling with revulsion as he gave the order.


    The guards followed. Sagir tried to turn and run around a table displaying goods. But one of them had already thrown himself at the enslaved, with the other guard tripping him. None of it looked graceful, and Sagir was able to keep one foot on the ground. He knelt on his other leg and tried to drag himself through the room. The owner¡¯s son kept a cautious distance, flinching at every rapid movement.


    The moans and grunts and grumbles were only broken up by Sagir¡¯s desperate voice. ¡°What did I do?!¡± he cried. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on! What did I do?!¡± He defied his assailants as good as possible, without raising a hand against them.


    ¡°Stop resisting,¡± commanded the guard that clung to his hip and dragged him to the ground. The other one, carrying shackles, tried to put them around Sagir¡¯s wrists. Added to the racket were the foreign screams of an old woman, when Nene stormed into the shopfront.


    ¡°You cannot fool us,¡± said the lieutenant, bloodthirsty and cold. ¡°Do you think you can get away with murdering one of my men?¡± He looked down on Sagir whose face was forced into the dust. ??ld?r pulled and pushed on the guards with her thin, brittle hands. To no effect. ¡°Sergeant, shut the hag up.¡±


    The older guard wore a brand new gambeson, with an ornamented belt that bore an equally ornamented mace. He did not hesitate. The other women stood back in shock and watched their lesser¡¯s futile attempts. ??ld?r cried in a language none of them understood a single word in. She got kicked in the side by the sergeant and crashed into a table. Small flasks of dye samples spread around the room, some cracking.


    Sagir just wanted to understand. He did everything in his might to not give them any more reason to brutalize him. But seeing what he saw and hearing what he heard was too much. He had been conditioned to survive, like his brethren and sistren, but enough was enough. This woman had raised him. Him and Ceyhan¡­


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch my Nene!¡± He shook off the hands that tried to cuff him and slammed his elbow back to wiggle into freedom. Flailing, panting and slapping his backhands into the jaws of the guards around him, he reached the sergeant with a chaotic strike to his legs. And got his attention. ¡°I will kill you! Don¡¯t touch her!¡±


    ¡°You wish,¡± said the veteran guard. ¡°You damned wish.¡± He held his mace in front of Sagir¡¯s distorted face before swinging it at the back of his head, blowing the young man¡¯s lights out. ¡°Get this over with, dimwits.¡±


    ¡°O?lum!¡± cried Nene. ¡°O?lum!¡± She stretched her arm as far as she could, to touch his fingers. Her vision began to blur. ¡°Do not hurt! My son! My beloved!¡± Her hand began to cramp and went numb. ¡°My heart!¡±


    ¡°Kalbim,¡± her screams faded away. ¡°Yard?m! Yard?m!¡±


    Her beloved Sagir slipped from her hand and got dragged away. She could barely see him and struggled for air. She choked up and slurred one last and loud ¡°Kalbim¡±. Her eyes closed and left nothing but tears on the floor. ¡°Kalbim¡­¡± The strength had left her, with one hand still searching for Sagir and the other clenched at her chest. Right at her heart.


    ¡°Kalbim¨C¡±

 Chapter 6 - Day Three

    Chapter 6


    Day Three ¨C Sunrise


    One of the strangest things Torm had never learned to understand was how Zaber was able to be ready after dawn. Sometimes, when meeting with the Red Mob, or at Marghe¡¯s place, to cause trouble in the streets. Like when he ambushed the Morell brothers four years ago. Suddenly, he was spot on. Also, Asher never had to wait for him on his escapades, no matter what time of the day. But if it was just about wasting precious daylight or visiting any kind of shop before they closed, Zaber was unable to get his arse up. Even if his life depended on it. And that made Torm furious.


    ¡°I¡¯m about to head out. Kell should be on duty now and Isar is an early bird,¡± said Torm and buckled his belt. Zaber was also getting ready and the apprentice observed him with unease. His mentor was palpating the wound above his eye one last time. The bleeding stopped soon enough, but it still looked nasty. Standing straight, at least, had not been an issue anymore. ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t need me as backup?¡± Torm waited at the entrance.


    ¡°Greet Kell and don¡¯t be thrifty,¡± said Zaber and tossed a heavy leather pouch at the boy. It landed in the right in Torm¡¯s hands, with a cluttered tingle. ¡°We¡¯ll meet up here and discuss later.¡±


    Torm jingled the pouch and opened to take a peek. His eyes widened in disbelief. He put it away under his worn out jerkin, as swift as possible. ¡°That¡¯s¨C¡±, he stumbled over his own words. ¡°A lot.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s for later too. Horses ain¡¯t cheap.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± sighed Torm and saluted Zaber with two fingers. He expected the former mercenary to roll his eyes at it. Fighting the urge to correct or even forbid Torm. But to Torm¡¯s surprise, Zaber did not and just continued to gear up. ¡°Later,¡± said Torm, concerned.


    The young man entered the street with a skip over the step where the entrance portal to the temple used to be. It was a futile attempt to relieve the tension built over night. It took ages to get to sleep, and he heard Zaber talk to himself, even though the words were meaningless noise.


    Per usual, the time before noon belonged to Torm, as his bum of a mentor wasn¡¯t awake. On a lazy day, Torm got his reading done in the morning. The days where he had candles at night were long over and they only afforded themselves a shared fire in the altar room. For cold nights, both of them had plenty covers and the driest rooms for themselves.


    But Torm was an early riser and proud of it. A perfect time to walk and explore the city, talk to the busyfolk in the streets or at work. Most of everything got done before noon and the afternoons and evenings were for less urgent matters. After a long and deserving rest for the commoners, be it naps or full second sleeps. Artisans worked their commissions or fulfilled their guild quotas before that. Torm did not have any schedule, so he learned the ins and outs of Westwatch. Talked plenty and spent his allowance on folks, not goods. When he was without Zaber, many more greeted him. The young ones. Those that were too afraid or told by their elders to stay away from the defiler.


    The boy was able to get through the neighborhood unimpeded for a good while, but scampered into the next alley when he saw a morning patrol. He hid under the jetty of a half-timbered house that led into a backyard. From behind a barrel, Torm watched them do their duty. They were sweeping up the filth of Westwatch. The one-legged beggar and his friend with no fingers were approached by the guards. Their dented cup to collected coins in got scattered by a kick. Zaber once told Torm that the fella fought in Da?ken, far east from here, when the principality was reconquered from Krasnia. His mentor was there too, as a child, less than two decades ago. And the beggar¡¯s friend had been caught too many times and stole himself empty-handed.


    ¡°Tch!¡± A pebble hit the floor and bounced against Torm¡¯s boot. ¡°Tch!¡± hissed something from behind him, over and over.


    ¡°Are the Baronet¡¯s dogs still around?¡± A boy half Torm¡¯s age waved his hands around to come closer. He and two more children were peeking around the corner from a backyard the alleyway led to. The one talking had his eye bandaged. Fresh blood was soaking the cloth and when Torm closed in on the trio, the other boy was covered in stink. The oldest of them was a rabid looking girl a couple of years ahead of the boys. She had the most serious look of any child Torm had ever met and carried a shortened wooden pole. It had a nail driven through, hanging from a rope that was also her belt.


    ¡°They¡¯re rounding up Pag and All-Palms,¡± said Torm after reaching them. ¡°Doesn¡¯t look too good for them.¡±


    ¡°Starforsaken, shit¡­¡± The kid spat on the ground. ¡°They owe us coin and now their bums are snatched up. It will take a whole day or till morrow before we can work ¡®em.¡± He spat again, this time on Torm¡¯s boots. ¡°By the Kraken, day ruined.¡±


    ¡°Where is Timmens?¡± Torm looked around the row of houses, with its shared backyard. A couple of shacks, some garden patches and a bunch of barrels, connected with chains and tied to the ground. The smell of early morrow gutter was in the air. ¡°And if you spit on my boots again, Glan, I¡¯ll drive it right back into your mouth.¡± Torm smiled and raised his leg in a way that could also have been a dance step.


    ¡°He climbed the ladder,¡± said Glan and rubbed his neck, right above where his tunic was torn. ¡°Morells gave him an axe.¡± He fiddled with his dirty bandage and bobbed back and forth, trying to look around the corner.


    ¡°Are you fellas alright?¡± Torm looked at each of them. It was obvious the two boys weren¡¯t. ¡°Is Timm¨C¡±


    ¡°You know what? You owe us the coin now,¡± said Glan and nodded at his stinky companion. ¡°Dogs are sniffing after the murkers because of you, they are damned everywhere. Your boss, or whatever he is, ruined everyone¡¯s business for days. Again.¡±


    ¡°He is not my boss and you damned know that.¡± Torm left no time to answer, his face and voice lacked sympathy. ¡°And we owe you shit nothing. Guards go after the Yesilians all the time, what do you even know?¡±


    ¡°That you fuck with them all the time. Why even do that, they¡¯re dirty and steal¨C¡°, Glan said repulsed.


    ¡°By the Stars, you are dirty and steal. That¡¯s you fellas whole deal,¡± interjected Torm and raised his hand for a slap. ¡°Shut your mouth.¡±


    All three kids flinched. The boys ducked away, but the girl was different. Her hand went to her stick, not budging.


    ¡°When w¨Cwe steal, w¨Cwe do it for bread. Th¨Cthey have cozy employ,¡± said the other boy as they straightened up again.


    ¡°Who¡¯s the new one?¡± Torm mustered the girl from head to toe. The way she stared at him, the way she postured without a word. She was tall for her age, lean and tense. And reminded Torm of someone in the most painful of ways.


    ¡°She¡¯s Memmy¡¯s friend,¡± replied Glan before the other boy could say something. ¡°We needed a new big kid to swing the stick. We gotta pay the Morells til next Lecture and everything is swarmed because of the blackheads and that bum.¡±


    The Lecture calendar was the linchpin of most folks¡¯ lives. On what day and time of day an Auror or Aurora read from the Scriptures. They also held Fate Readings or preached to the congregation of a temple. In rural villages, Brethren and Sistren of the Stars substituted for the noble clergymen that sang to the masses by only reciting the texts. On every first of a Minor Constellation, at full moon, new moon and when the Red and White Sisters both stood half. And, naturally, on the days of the five Major Constellations. There were never more than a dozen days between two Lectures. The shortest were back-to-back at the end of a year. The next Lecture, to Torm¡¯s knowledge, was in five days.


    ¡°I said shut it.¡± Torm flicked his backhand against Glan¡¯s forehead, cautious to not hit his eye.


    The girl grabbed her stick and pulled it from the rope that held her shirt together, but Memmy threw himself in front of her. ¡°N-no, no. You can¡¯t do that,¡± he said and put his hands on her trembling arms. ¡°H¨C, his o¨C, old man is gonna smack us up, h¨C, hard.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s a bitcharse,¡± said Glan and pointed at Torm with a smirk. ¡°Now please, come on. Don¡¯t make us do this.¡±


    ¡°I warn you, Glan,¡± said Torm. ¡°The Morells can¡¯t protect you from Zaber and me. I like Timmens and I don¡¯t want to hurt his buddies.¡± He looked long and good at all of them. The girl refused to break, while Memmy and Glan became more and more nervous by the breather. Her pupils were fixed and she did not blink. Whatever went on behind them, the way her jaw pressed out the muscles, was too much, too familiar. ¡°What¡¯s your name, girl?¡±


    ¡°Her name¡¯s Brinna,¡± responded Memmy, and let go of her hand. ¡°She ain¡¯t talking.¡±


    Torm tried to match her stare, as Zaber would. But he didn¡¯t have it in him. He smiled at her, closed his eyes and shook his head at himself. ¡°This isn¡¯t fear,¡± he said as his hand slipped beneath his worn-out leather jerkin. Showing them it¡¯s content, how big and plentiful it was, wasn¡¯t an option. He fiddled out the first coin his fingers reached. ¡°It¡¯s pity.¡± A full silver coin.


    ¡°Are you fucking with us? A gulden?¡± Glan¡¯s voice rose up and he held his mouth shut in shock. Memmy had tears in his eyes, while nothing changed for Brinna.


    ¡°Take it and keep good care. If you ever try to mug me again, I¡¯ll kick you in the balls,¡± said Torm, and sighed. He looked at Brinna one last time. ¡°Or¡­ whatever for a girl.¡± He flipped the coin at her, but Memmy snatched it up.


    When he turned around, the guards, Pag and All-Palms, were gone. All that remained was the dented cup, with some quartered groschen splattered around the pavement. Another man, too quick and crouched to be recognized, snuck out of another alley. He rushed to collect as much coin as possible before running away.


    ¡°Yo, wait.¡± Glan had caught up to Torm and grabbed his benefactor¡¯s arm from behind. ¡°Thanks man. Really, thanks¡±, he said and looked back at Memmy and Brinna in the backyard. ¡°You have no idea what you¡¯ve done for us.¡±


    Torm sighed again, annoyed. ¡°It¡¯s fine. We can make more like this, you can¡¯t,¡± lied the young man. Zaber had told him to always pretend that their coin came from shady business. Nobody should ever assume it was just lying around. And it helped make sense of his actions and relations all over Westwatch.


    Even if it delayed him, Torm felt good about what happened. He¡¯d needed that. Needed a win like this. The last day had been a lot. Too much maybe, but he couldn¡¯t let his mentor notice that. Torm was involved in some kerfuffles in the past, but was never allowed to help in a meaningful way. At best, he was there to observe and learn. Saving Sagir was serious and he could not allow himself to mess up. For his friends, his mentor and his own sake. Going into this with something positive for starters, yes, made it better for Torm.


    The street was free now and the young man was able to continue towards the quarter¡¯s namesake. Of the two main roads through Westwatch, the northern ¨C Magpie Lane ¨C was the safer one. The southern road was called Shean¡¯s Burn, after a man named Moonshine Shean. The way they were patrolled by the guards was different, as there were shops to protect in Magpie¡¯s. Shean¡¯s, on the other hand, led into Yesilian Street and Red Cat Alley, which housed Marghe¡¯s place, The Red Carpet. More commercially minded folk shunned it¡­ at daylight.


    Thus, Torm made his way through the more rigorously policed one. The folk he had to circumvent here were easier to cast off and more civilized. Men, women and children of all ages were doing their chores and running errands. Doing earnest work. They were also less armed, a tool of their trade or knife at best. But all paths in Westwatch had someone waiting to make a quick coin.


    ¡°Torm!¡± A sweet voice rang from behind. ¡°Hey, Torm! How are you doing?¡±


    The boy recognized who was approaching him, at a smart pace. The good mood from before clouded his mind and a smile formed on his face. An instinct took over where he turned around on one heel. ¡°Hello,¡± said Torm with a certain melody. A girl, only a smidge younger than him. With proper braids under a bonnet and a trim, but cheap, dress and shears in her apron. She was bright and wide-eyed. ¡°Don¡¯t you have to work, Elta?¡±


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t tease me,¡± giggled the girl. ¡°I¡¯m on my way there.¡± When Torm came to a halt, she went straight for his frayed sleeves and held herself tight at them. Elta made sure not to come too close, in public¡­ because of the needles in her apron. ¡°I asked the Mistress, I can take some of the leftover fabrics from the colonies. It is time to make you something nice to wear. I can do that after work.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Torm stepped back. ¡°That¡¯s expensive, you shouldn¡¯t¨C¡±


    ¡°No, it is just a groschen and a half.¡± Elta pursued him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t spend coin on me, I¡¯m covered,¡± said Torm. This was more than what he expected. ¡°I would love to chat with you, but both of us need to¨C¡± He felt himself drawn to her. A young body acting on it¡¯s own behalf.


    ¡°Want to keep me company while I make it?¡± Her fingers fiddled along his sleeves, down to his hands. ¡°Vils isn¡¯t at home. His master needs him.¡±


    Torm closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. ¡°I would love to,¡± he said and pushed her away gently. ¡°But I am running errands for Zaber. We have business outside the walls and I will not be in town fo¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh, damned he be,¡± she replied and threw her hands up. ¡°He punched my brother in the teeth on the last Full White. I say; ditch the bastard.¡±


    The defeated sigh transformed into an annoyed one. Torm¡¯s smile disappeared and a gentle push became a barrier of hands so she could not close in again. ¡°Another good reason. Vils will not be happy with me hanging around your place. Save the coin and wait until I am back.¡±


    ¡°You can read and count, why not get work with the guilds?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not. I promise, you are the first I¡¯ll visit after our return.¡±


    She grabbed his outstretched hands and looked deep into his eyes. ¡°What are you even doing with him? Are you going to rob a fella? Or murder?¡± She was close to crying. ¡°I heard he murdered¨C¡±


    Torm took away his hands and shoved them into his jerkin to get to the pouch of coins. He presented two groschen to her. ¡°Here, take that. If you really want to buy the fabrics, don¡¯t do it with your pay.¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± said Elta and took the copper. ¡°You are wasting your youth with him. You are so much better, you¨C¡± She looked at the ground, saddened. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to say that. But he just hit my brother, for nothing. In the middle of the street.¡±


    Torm turned around, shaking his head, and felt her hands soon enough again. He tried not to be too harsh, but made sure that she felt that her embrace was not welcome.


    ¡°No day goes by without that bum causing trouble,¡± she whispered. ¡°Is that what you want to become?¡±


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    There were so many things Torm wanted to say. If her damned brother got punched in the teeth by Zaber, he damned well deserved it. Vils treated others like shit. He may take good care of his sister, after their parent¡¯s departure, but that was no excuse to be a starforsaken arsehole. Torm was filled with anger, but had no intention to take it out on Elta. She was a stupid girl and he should leave her behind. And if he runs into her brother again, he may as well punch him in the teeth.


    ¡°I am leaving. Let¡¯s talk when I¡¯m back.¡± Which might be never, he realized. He had to think about what to do, not concern himself with folk like her. Torm¡¯s steps became stomps when he left Elta behind.


    Each watch used to be part of the city¡¯s walls before the expansions. They now stood as singular keeps with a garrison of fifty to a total of three hundred men for all of Teblen. They were supposed to form an infantry heap if push came to shove and the city had to be defended. But they rarely reached their full manpower. For a city that bordered the Kingdom of Gal¨¢zion, on the other side of the Reuwh River and Lake Teblen, the guards were not up to the task. Nobody trained them to fight in formation and they lacked the skills required of a proper footman. The burden of defense would fall to The Margrave¡¯s personal regiment. A mixed unit of cavalry and infantry that numbered twelve hundred men. Too many times had Torm listened to Zaber and Asher complain about them, wasted and in a mood.


    Checking on his bauernwehr and hunting knife, Torm lay in wait around the corner to Westwatch. His friend Kell was a stable hand at the mews next to the fortification. He had to be up and working already, but Torm couldn¡¯t see him anywhere. Folk were moving, but running into anybody that wasn¡¯t his friends was too great a danger. Did they even consider Torm as part of this and would arrest him, or could he walk in as the freeman he was? The boy realized that he had no idea what they were going to do. What was their plan and what were Zaber and Hanifa doing at Yesilian Street?


    He''s gotta be in the stables," whispered Torm, trying to build up courage. ¡°Or the workshop¡­ or smithy.¡± He looked around over and over, up at the keep and into its windows. ¡°Hmhmmm, they are open¡­¡± He considered climbing up into Isar¡¯s chamber, as she was the granddaughter of the sergeant. But doing so in broad daylight was stupid. And today was not the day to be stupid. So, he skulked from alley to alley to get closer to the auxiliary buildings.


    The quarter of Westwatch used to be a shanty town outside the walls for those considered undesirable. Whores and other impure professions had settled there until new walls were built around them. One street was designated for them to do their sinful business in. Not for their own good, but because a need arose to settle the prisoners of war from Yesilia here. After Albion, Gal¨¢zion and Krasnia had banded together and pushed back their advances.


    After frustration and impatience had built up long enough in Torm, he decided to risk it all. Walk into the workshop, the place he heard the least voices from and¡­


    ¡°Torm? What are you doing here?¡±


    Torm grabbed his hunting knife and turned around, just before he stepped inside the building. Exhaling in relief, he saw his friend. ¡°By the Stars¨C¡±


    ¡°Yo, you going to kill me too?¡± Kell raised his arms jokingly, as if he was yielding. He had a gruesome scar on his lips and chin and through his right hand. Short red-brown hair was on full display; the hood of his gugel hung down his back. A laughable excuse of a mustache grew under his nose and a robust knife, more tool than weapon, was sheathed at his hip. The watch paid well enough that most of it was in good condition.


    ¡°Are you alone?¡± Torm¡¯s eyes swept around the area.


    ¡°For now,¡± said Kell and mimicked Torm¡¯s behavior even more exaggeratedly. ¡°But seriously, what are you doing here? They will bust your arse if you get caught.¡±


    ¡°Wanna walk?¡± Torm smiled mischievously. ¡°We need to talk. We fucked up.¡±


    ¡°Damned you did. You murdered a fucker.¡±


    The young men came closer and closer with each word they said, until they grabbed each other¡¯s hand and hugged it out for a moment. Kell¡¯s hands were dirty and he and Torm wiped it off on each other¡¯s legs and sleeves while walking away. There was no doubt nor sign of hesitance in Kell. He followed his friend into the closest dark corner, behind another barrel of rainwater.


    ¡°So, the guards know it wasn¡¯t Sagir?¡± whispered Torm. He leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. The gears in his head were visibly shifting through his eyes.


    ¡°If that¡¯s the murker they got, yes,¡± said Kell and positioned himself so that he blocked sight on his friend. ¡°Do you think them stupid? Damned they know it was Zaber. But they¡¯re not poking the hornet¡¯s nest.¡±


    ¡°Why go after Sagir? He¡¯s just some¨C¡± Hands formed into fists, and Torm bumped against the wall behind him.


    ¡°Murker, yes. Nobody gives a damn.¡± Kell¡¯s voice was casual, but the word itself triggered a response in Torm. ¡°Losse was a dumbarse, but since when is Zaber killing guards? Has his nut cracked?¡±


    ¡°He¨C¡± Torm struggled to find the right words. ¡°I don¡¯t know. We wanted Sagir to have a treat. His brother was friends with Zaber and Asher and¨C¡±


    ¡°Listen, they have long waited for something like this. This is what the Cap and Sarge wanted all along.¡±


    The apprentice pushed himself off the wall and paced a couple of steps up and down the passageway. Kell tried to cover him as good as possible. ¡°We know we¡¯re in trouble. A Captain of the Margrave showed up on the yester and messed Zaber up good.¡±


    Kell¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°For real, Zaber got beat?¡± He gasped. ¡°Did they use magic?¡±


    ¡°Your boner is showing, get your pants up.¡± Torm waved at his friend¡¯s legs and laughed. ¡°I have never seen something like this. I know what folk say about Zaber, even though he pretends to not. But there was nothing he could have done.¡±


    ¡°So Zaber didn¡¯t¡­¡± Kell looked insistently at his friend and wiggled his eyebrows in demand of an answer. ¡°You know?¡±


    ¡°Shut it, I need your help,¡± replied Torm. ¡°Why would they send a Captain and Lieutenant of the Margrave to deal with this, and not one of your officers?¡±


    The stable boy scratched his miserable excuse of a mustache and looked at the ground. ¡°Because they suck? If it¡¯s true what they say about Zaber, there is no reason to send a guardsman lesser than the Colonel.¡±


    ¡°But why not end him? That knight was able to do so.¡±


    ¡°Man, I don¡¯t know.¡± Kell shrugged. ¡°I shovel horse dung, carry hay, and oil weapons and armor they don¡¯t even let me use. How the fuck should I know?¡± He leaned against the barrel and washed his hands in it. ¡°All I know is; he¡¯s off limits and nobody really knows why. And I am not stupid enough to talk to the officers. He killed Losse and on the morrow they marched out to bag that blackhead, Sigar.¡±


    ¡°Stop calling him that¡­ or murker. His name is Sagir,¡± said Torm. His pitch changed from threat to plead in a breath. ¡°Can you get me in¡­ so I can talk to him?¡±


    ¡°Fuck no¡±, quick fired Kell. ¡°I am not stupid and he isn¡¯t even here.¡±


    ¡°What, why?¡±


    Kell shook his head and squatted behind the barrel. An underhanded wave invited Torm to take cover too. ¡°Already said it. I bet the Margrave or Baronet or Colonel or whoever doesn¡¯t trust their baffoonish arses. He was brought to Old Guard.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡± Torm padded his friend¡¯s shoulder. ¡°This already helps a lot. Now¨C¡± The boy paused and rested his hand on Kell¡¯s shoulder. ¡°If you can¡¯t get me down to the cells, can you get me to Isar?¡±


    ¡°Oh boy,¡± sighed Kell and put Torm¡¯s hand off him. ¡°No. Stop this. What is your plan? Get your dick wet before the Sarge eats you neck and crop?¡±


    ¡°She needs to find out all the details of what is going to happen to Sagir. Her gramps can¡¯t say no to her,¡± Torm insisted. ¡°Please.¡±


    Kell rolled his eyes. ¡°Sure.¡± He stood up again. ¡°How about I get back in, finish my tasks and head up to her chamber. Tell her you want to meet her.¡±


    Torm rose as well, about to speak and cheer.


    ¡°But she won¡¯t be happy to see you,¡± Kell cut Torm short. ¡°She was friends with Losse.¡±


    ¡°Oh come on. How¨C¡± Torm stopped himself before going on. ¡°Forget it, it doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    Kell positioned himself to block the alley once more, with his hands on his hips and elbows spread wide. ¡°You sound like a man that¡¯s going to do something stupid. And Zaber is a man made of stupid. Give me something, I want to be part of this.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you. Don¡¯t be like this, we are dead serious,¡± said Torm. ¡°You know us. You know me. We are knee deep in trouble and going deeper by the breather.¡±


    ¡°Man, I know you two aren¡¯t scum. But you and Zaber are scum.¡± Kell did not budge. He reached for his friend and looked him in the eyes, as if his life depended on it. ¡°I don¡¯t shed a tear for Losse, he was a horse¡¯s arse. I want an out, they will never make me a real recruit.¡± He sighed and sounded desperate. ¡°I want to be trained like you. Tell Zaber he needs to take me in and I swear I will stay out of your way. Just¡­¡± He halted his breath. ¡°Give me something.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pay you.¡± Torm¡¯s hand slipped inside his jerkin. ¡°I have¨C¡±


    ¡°No. Keep Zaber¡¯s dirty murder coins.¡± The stable boy grabbed Torm¡¯s arm to stop him. ¡°I want to learn neat tricks, like you.¡±


    Torm looked like he was in pain. His gaze wandered through the alley to avoid eye contact. ¡°We¡¯ve been over this. Zaber likes you, but he thinks you¡¯re weak,¡± said Torm and bit his lips. ¡°Because you are.¡± He looked at his friend. ¡°I love you man, but you are not cut out for this. He barely lets me do anything, he will never bring you in.¡±


    ¡°Neat, great¡­¡± Kell looked up and down his friend and himself. ¡°Perfect. You know what? You pay me in a trick. If he isn¡¯t, you are.¡±


    Another sigh before Torm replied, once more, defeated. ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°Now,¡± said Kell. ¡°Before you two get yourself killed.¡± He smiled again, victorious.


    ¡°Fine, I said.¡± Torm sounded annoyed and reached behind himself. ¡°Now pull out your¨C¡±


    ¡°Woah!¡± yelled Kell, raising his hands. ¡°Not that kind of trick!¡± He laughed.


    It was impossible for Torm to stay serious or even mad at his friend¡¯s exceptional talent for thinking fast and talking even faster. He laughed and unsheathed the thick blade of his hunting knife, which had a hilt made from antler. It was the last present from his grandfather, back at his birthplace Hohendam.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you the first instructions I got from Zaber,¡± said Torm and held the knife in front of him, with his other hand placed at his hip. ¡°Short blades aren¡¯t great, but¡­¡± He smiled. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault that you¡¯re not packing big.¡±


    Kell chuckled and imitated Torm¡¯s posture with his own knife. It wasn¡¯t very sharp, but thick and slightly bent. Sometimes it had to be used as a lever. ¡°Don¡¯t make me stab you, accidentally.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why they¡¯re not good, is what Zaber says. You have to be very good or very lucky to not hurt yourself with these, as there is no safe range.¡± Torm wiggled the blade around to show how easy it was to slice a foe¡¯s wrist and also your own. ¡°So, first thing the dick did to me was smack me in the face without a warning,¡± he said, and the hand from his hip moved fast to do just that to Kell. ¡°But I¡¯m nicer, I gave you a warning.¡±


    The stable boy stumbled back and held his cheek. With his eyes wide open, he exhaled in terror. ¡°Fff¨C¡± He needed a moment to regain composure. ¡°You starforsaken son of a¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh, come one. This is what you wanted, and it¡¯s one of the two main lessons the man¡¯s all about,¡± said Torm with contempt. ¡°I hated it too, at first. But until recently, Zaber kept winning. Strike first and if you hit the ground, you are dead. There is no honor in losing and to live another day is another day you can keep fighting. Never shall you leave a battle defeated without expending all of your possible options, to¨C¡±


    ¡°Fuck you.¡± Kell stepped up and got back into his stance. ¡°I know this is a speech from The Ventures North. I got this book from you and read it three times.¡±


    ¡°Uhh¨C¡± Torm stumbled over the rest of the speech. ¡°The first part is from Zaber,¡± he said. ¡°Or something like that. He¡¯s good at explaining this, I just don¡¯t remember it well. And he doesn¡¯t want me to remember it, he just¡­¡±


    ¡°Beats it into you?¡± Kell looked miserable when he imagined it.


    ¡°Yes?¡± The apprentice wasn¡¯t bothered. ¡°I know he really enjoys fighting, but he always pulls the fastest bullshit. It¡¯s all about thinking ahead or not thinking at all. And getting downed, he says, is a death sentence.¡±


    ¡°Great, got it,¡± Kell pressed on. ¡°Now teach me a real trick. Something that makes the girls want me and the boys afraid.¡±


    ¡°Maybe clean your fingernails and neck more often?¡± Torm got back into position and waited patiently for Kell¡¯s response. It was a middle finger and a motion where to stick it. ¡°Yes, because you do that all the time. Now back on track, the whole thing was about expecting the unexp¨C¡±


    Without even finishing these words, Kell tried to pull the same trick as Torm. But before his hand came even close to a slap, Kell¡¯s wrist was grabbed and his entire body got pulled. Torm directed his friend past the intended target. Another slap to the side of his head made Kell stumble and fall over. It had not much force, but enough to bring Kell to his inexperienced knees.


    ¡°Ooph¨C¡± Torm was surprised as well. ¡°So, the real lesson was¡­¡± He thought long and good. ¡°Yes, the thing about always pressing your advantage. If you are ahead, keep going until it¡¯s finished, I guess. Zaber never said it like that, but that is what he does, I think.¡±


    ¡°G¨C, great,¡± Kell held the side of his head. ¡°So is every lesson¡­ be brutal?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± Torm never really took the time to give it a deeper thought. ¡°But that was your real trick. As he says¨C¡±


    ¡°I swear, you were quoting The Flags of White and Black and if you keep doing this, I will snitch on you.¡±


    ¡°No, this time I was remembering a real lesson. See a wrist or elbow? Push or pull it.¡± Torm grabbed Kell¡¯s hand and tried to get him on his feet.


    A creaking voice sounded through the alley from the opposite side to where Westwatch was. ¡°Are you getting mugged, son?¡± An old man in a straw hat and with a broom stretched his neck in. Trying to get a better look at them, but also to keep his distance.


    ¡°Mind your own damned business!¡± shouted Kell back. ¡°We¡¯re just playing.¡±


    ¡°We do not stand for buggery here in Teblen, you starless swine!¡± yelled the street sweeper. ¡°I will report you to the Watch!¡±


    The boys looked at each other and retracted their hands, caught. Nervous looks went left and right, with both their hands held where they were easy to see.


    ¡°What an arse,¡± said Torm.


    ¡°Yesyes, what a vile old man,¡± followed Kell quickly. ¡°So¨C¡± His steps were timid. ¡°Uh, I¡¯ll go now. The geezer has to walk all around the block first. Where should I send Isar?¡±


    ¡°Uhm,¡± Torm thought hard. ¡°Better not in Westwatch. Let¡¯s meet down at the entrance to The Margrave¡¯s Road. Tell her I¡¯ll walk her by the river.¡±


    ¡°Damned, maybe I should learn one of your tricks,¡± said Kell and bumped his fist into Torm¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You teaching her tricks too?¡±


    ¡°I do, actually.¡± Torm nodded. ¡°Nothing like what you just got. But I think¨C¡± He smiled mischievous and returned the bump. ¡°Your sarge deserves an unruly granddaughter. You are not missing any of what she gets from me. Nothing Zaber has to offer would sit well with a girl like¨C¡±


    ¡°Stop explaining, you are so bad at it,¡± scoffed Kell and stepped back. ¡°I can take a beating, she can¡¯t. You know where I come from.¡± He laughed and turned around in a swirl. ¡°Later.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Torm interrupted his friend, but stood still. A thought had intruded his mind and filled him with gloom. ¡°Next time we meet, I will take you with. No matter what Zaber says. We fine?¡±


    Kell turned around, again, with far less enthusiasm. He looked grim and serious. ¡°What are you fools planning?¡± The boys looked at each other until the air was pregnant with discomfort. ¡°You know what? Don¡¯t say a word. Talk to that maniac again and then tell me.¡± He forced a smile and left, this time for good.

 Chapter 7 - Day Three

    Chapter 7


    Day Three ¨C Morning


    After Father Sun greeted his daughters farewell, Zaber had to acknowledge that he had failed once again. A brief moment passed during which he slept for a candle or two, but there was no more rest to gain. His head still ached but was more so filled with thoughts. Thoughts he had never learned to shut up. Every night was like this, but the voices had been especially intrusive this night. They gave him horrible ideas¡­ and at times, horribly good ones.


    First, as always, he checked on his weapons. They were still there, right next to his bundled-up gambeson that became a headrest at night. He had been huddled beneath an old woolen blanket for long enough. Slipped into his wide breeches, over the old braies, put on his scuffed riding boots, and armored up with the gambeson. Slow and tired. Next, he had to examine his belt and weapons. Make sure his canteen from boiled leather was refilled and nothing hung loose. Only now did he have a cleared mind to get rid of the crusty bandage around his head.


    Torm was already up when Zaber came out of his chamber, the old sacristy. A grim-faced groan greeted the apprentice, who retorted with a smile and nod. The boy was washing his face, neck and privates. He had already emptied the night bucket into the sewage and chewed some bread. While Zaber was still readying himself, Torm was about to roll out.


    The pair had one last exchange of words and coin before the apprentice left. ¡°Later,¡± were Torm¡¯s last words.


    Zaber gave Torm a lot of space to be free, to be himself. On the days the mentor was alone, he barely spoke any words. It was the boy who forced him to think like a human and say his first words of the day. Every day.


    The veteran knew that constant solitude would ruin him. But, sometimes, he needed that. He just sat down for a good long moment, picked up a piece of jerky and buried his face in his hands to take a long breather. His eyes were closed and he listened to the merls.


    Calmed down, he checked one more time on the hatch. That smooth-faced motherfucker had gotten the better of him. Zaber had stood up more than once that night to look around to see if anything was missing. But nothing could be done about this anymore. Zaber had to move on¡­ move out.


    He stepped onto the front yard of the old temple and his eyes wandered left and right. Where Torm had to go northeast to Magpie¡¯s, Zaber headed southwest to Shean¡¯s Burn, named after some poor fella they torched to death.


    When he hit the streets, he felt eyes on him; they stung like needles. There were many familiar faces, very few friendly ones. Zaber knew that many of them didn¡¯t look at him. A fleeting notice at best, but his shoulders tensed up. His hands wandered to his belt. Thumbs stuck in. Very close to his weapons.


    What Zaber loved about Westwatch was when the charm of the old shanty town came through. Hammered together architecture, wonders of the rule of thumb. It even made the vast alleys and dark corners he obsessively observed bearable. But it was a matter of time before the guild masters would swoop in and try to civilize this place. Asher and Marghe had shared rumors about it.


    Two patrols crossed each other when Zaber turned into the main road. One returning, the other with their backs in front of the greasy and unkempt veteran. His eyes met those who walked past him and he saw a glimpse of arrogance smiling at him. These guards really thought they¡¯d won.


    The other patrol advanced further. Ahead of Zaber, a group of five crawled out from one of the dark corners. All wore a hatchet with a thin axe blade.


    ¡°Oi, oi,¡± yelled one of them at a fella with a wheelbarrow. ¡°This'' Morell¡¯s turf.¡±


    As with the guards before, Zaber¡¯s demeanor was unchanged. His hands were ready, his body tense to a burst and his eyes radiated danger. But his pace kept steady and there was no need to give them active attention. They were barely younger or older than Torm and one of them was a real kid. Zaber did not halt or falter, nor did he try to evade those who blocked his path.


    The young men took a couple of turnips from the wheelbarrow and the man fiddled a broken groschen out of a pocket. Not much else happened, except for pompous posturing. Until one noticed Zaber coming at them, but he got held back by the youngest. Before he did something stupid.


    ¡°Not him,¡± said the youngster.


    The axeman looked down at his companion. ¡°What?¡± he asked, baffled. ¡°We all new here, why you bossing us around like this, half-pint?¡±


    ¡°Listen to him, Timmens is a native,¡± said another one and stepped to the side.


    ¡°Big Morell gave him a pass, let him be¡±, said Timmens, smiled at Zaber, and tipped his forehead as a greeting.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± The fella was befuddled until Zaber¡¯s shoulder bumped into him. Hard. Pushing him to the side. ¡°Wha¨C¡± He raised his fist, but more of his company held him back. ¡°Damned be, we¡¯re Morell boys. Since when we taking shit like this? Just because he¡¯s packing good steel?!¡±


    ¡°Listen,¡± said Timmens and moved closer. ¡°You¡¯ve seen Elder Morell¡¯s gold teeth? That was him. Now shut your damned face or I¡¯ll.¡±


    Zaber couldn¡¯t hear much of the conversation anymore¡­ but the mere mention of that facejob he gave the Morells forced a smile onto him. The brothers were real scum, but damned did they know how to throw hands. Way better than the Red Mob.


    The patrol walked far ahead of Zaber by now and he tried not to lose sight of them. Their path ignored Red Cat Alley, so Yesilian Street had to be their goal. Which was also Zaber¡¯s. Under normal circumstances, he would neither back down nor avoid them. But there was a need for secrecy with what he had on his mind.


    The deeper parts of Shean¡¯s Burn were the worst area of Westwatch, very close to the city walls. It was swarmed by guards and members of the Sellsword Guild, on top of plenty ill-minded folk that looked for an easy picking. When Zaber reached Red Cat Alley, he took a sharp turn and entered it. A many ramified passages led to Yesilian Street from here.


    It was still early in the morning and many were working or sleeping. This meant Red Cat¡¯s was less crowded with the drunk and horny, but harbored a lot of pent up frustration. Right around the corner from the enslaved, a recipe for trouble. And a lot of ancient folk were still reminiscent of when Shean¡¯s Tavern used to be here. They say it held the whole quarter together and that he cursed the whole place.


    The big house at the end of Red Cat Alley, nowadays, was The Red Carpet. The whores had settled in and it was a jolly old street for it, filled with hammered folk from all over town. If you wanted a good time and had coin to spare, this was the place where a pepper sack, peon or soldier on leave could sink their pay.


    Two rows of shacks stretched out into the street, with vulgar decorations and wooden signs depicting the kind of service one could expect inside. More customers were leaving than entering, often looking either very well-rested or not at all. Even this early, some of the whores were already presenting their goods in the most profound ways. Very few directed their words and bits at Zaber. They didn¡¯t dare to greet him, and the greasy and unkempt man¡¯s eyes were fixed to the end of the alley. More than once did he scratch the scar along his jaw.


    ¡°Out, out!¡± A short blonde pushed a man of considerable height, in his undergarments, onto the street. A nasty scar ran along his shaven hair and uneven beard. His legs were shaky, but he kept himself from falling. ¡°Get out!¡± The woman threw the rest of his belongings after him and covered up her most prominent features.


    ¡°Damned, I paid you for five days, whore!¡± The man shouted back, trying to stand tall. Among his possessions, Zaber noticed, was a baldric with a sword of the local fashion. One handed, but the length could only be worn by a man with special privileges like Zaber himself. A freeman for sure, mercenary or guild guard. The way he stumbled back at the whore, he surely had an illustrious night to recover from.


    ¡°Ya agreed to the rules of my house and broke ¡®em,¡± she said in a thick isles accent. ¡°Now get your bum out, or I¡¯ll scream.¡±


    ¡°Whore, don¡¯t tempt me.¡± The tall customer lurched down to grab his belongings. ¡°I¡¯ll pay you extra, I have good coin. Or¨C¡± Interrupted by a swift straight punch, his head hit the ground with a loud ¡®crack¡¯ and his blade bounced across the pavement. With all his attention directed at the whore, the tall man was caught off guard and Zaber straightened his posture back to normal. The veteran wiped his hand and sought eye contact with the woman. He maintained strict eye contact, as if a steel pole was directing his gaze to avoid wandering downward.


    ¡°By the Stars, thank ya,¡± said the whore. ¡°Ya never know what they¡¯re capable of, until¨C¡± She rolled her eyes and giggled nervously, because she did not know how to say it otherwise. ¡°The door ain¡¯t too thick.¡±


    When she came closer, Zaber¡¯s gaze broke and he looked at the ground. For just a moment. He did not know where else to look when the blonde whore grabbed her customers shoulders and lifted him chest high. ¡°Name¡¯s Clory, mind carryin'' the bastard off to the main road with me?¡±


    ¡°Gotta go,¡± said Zaber clipped and scratched the scar along his jaw again.


    ¡°Uh¨C, I¡¯ll tell Marghe ya were around,¡± said Clory and struggled to lift a man several heads taller than her. ¡°Thanks again.¡±


    Zaber turned away from her, but halted his steps after just one. He exhaled and his shoulders slouched for so short that it could be missed in a blink. Another woman had arrived and with her was a man that was more than just in good shape for his age. His gray hair was well maintained, as was his uptwirling mustache. He wore a tailor-made gambeson with jack chains along the arms and a feathered hat. His boots were as good as the arming sword and rondel dagger at his hip. The only messy thing about him was the scar that had split his nose open at the ridge.


    ¡°Not needed,¡± said the woman. ¡°And what kind of reaction is that?¡± She smiled and walked up to Zaber.


    Her strawberry blonde hair was brushed out and uncovered, as was the hair of most women here. She was in her thirties and her face and movements were full of energy. The fabulous dress she wore wasn¡¯t cheap, even though it didn¡¯t use a lot of fabrics at the right places.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this, Marghe,¡± said Zaber, but his feet stood still.


    ¡°Ruwer, will you take that gentleman away?¡± Marghe¡¯s presence was not commanding. Her pleasant face alone was enough to manifest her will.


    ¡°Aye, Madam,¡± nodded Ruwer. Not only to confirm, but also to greet Zaber, who returned a nod.


    ¡°What made you fall out of your bed?¡± Marghe laid a hand on the veteran¡¯s tense shoulder and acted surprised. ¡°Something happened?¡±


    Zaber closed his eyes and sighed. ¡°Can we not do this today?¡± He tried to move past her. ¡°I have to¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re heading to Hanifa¡¯s place?¡± she asked and stepped aside to not bother him anymore. ¡°Can you please come by and talk to me when you¡¯re done?¡±


    Even the thought of what had occurred made Zaber¡¯s fists clench again. He tried to walk away, but something kept him. The hint of concern in her voice drove him crazy, knowing what he knew ¨C not just about the past, but the future he had in mind. His teeth were grinding against each other before he turned his head ever so slightly at Marghe. ¡°¡¯aight,¡± was all he could manage. Enough for the woman to pad him on the back and relieve him.


    ¡°She¡¯ll tell me anyway.¡± Normally, her mocking tone would have made Zaber smile, but this time he looked grimmer than before. Yesilian Street was just around the corner, he had one narrow alley between two shacks to navigate. The building of their meetings was known to Zaber, even though he never entered it before. It was placed between other shabby houses so that the guards wouldn¡¯t know of its existence. It was made to blend into the adjacent walls and not stand out when viewed from above the walls.


    Every Yesilian had to live in this street or in the households of their owners. None of the shacks were in a good shape, riddled with leaks and rot. At the entrance to his destination sat the stout bear of a man, hairy and big. His dangerous timber rested next to him at a wall and he stared at Zaber from afar. Chewing on cured beef. If any man in Westwatch was able to outstare Zaber, it was Kovada.


    The greasy and unkempt man felt no need to ask for permission. He was told to come and already felt late. The gate keeper grunted at him and held his heavy arm in front of the door to block it.


    ¡°I¡¯m expected,¡± grunted Zaber back. His instincts made him build up, even though he could never outbulk a man of this stature. All he got as a reply was a rhythmic knock on the door.


    ¡°Come in,¡± said a woman¡¯s voice from the other side. The tone and accent gave Hanifa away, even if it took a while. And Kovada followed, as if it was an order.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The door opened and the veteran stepped into a creaking corridor. There were a couple of doors, but Hanifa waved him to follow her to the last on the left. After she entered, Zaber leaned into the frame and assessed the room. At a patched together, round table sat a total of four folk. Hanifa took her seat furthest away, making it five. Next to her resided another woman in a dark veil. She was around Hanifa¡¯s age, older than Zaber, and had multiple small scars dotted all over her face. If it wasn¡¯t for those, she would be considered a highly sought after slave for many masters. Of the three men left, two were approaching the end of their life. Both had equally thick beards, but in different shapes. One long and pointy and the other round and bristled. The third was an older man with a young face and the most magnificent mustache. All wore wide clothes and vests and the two old men had colorful turbans wrapped around their heads. The last man wore a simple felt cap.


    ¡°Welcome Zabir, you are early,¡± said the man with the magnificent mustache. He smiled and pointed at a small stool at the side of the table. ¡°Please, sit down. I will make Kavhe for you.¡± He stood up and walked to the oven in the room. A tin pot was brewing on it and the smell of roasted nuts filled the room.


    ¡°A what?¡± Zaber raised an eyebrow. ¡°Please no, I don¡¯t need¨C¡±


    ¡°Sit down,¡± ordered Hanifa. ¡°Don¡¯t take this away from us. We have one more matter to discuss, we¡¯ll make it quick.¡±


    The man with the magnificent mustache pushed the stool between the two old men for Zaber to sit. He then returned back to the stove, but stayed involved in the ongoing discussion.


    The bearded men to Zaber¡¯s left and right gestured a lot with their thin and bony hands. Not a single word was understood by their guest, but his eyes switched between whoever was talking. It was, often, everyone at the same time. The most reserved was the fella preparing a meal or beverage, or whatever. Second least was the woman with the dotted face. Her clothes had lost a lot of color and thus was brighter than Hanifa¡¯s. All of them tried to incorporate at least minor aspects of their native fashion. But, in the end, their veils were not too different from the kerchiefs of peasant women from Albion, Gal¨¢zion or Krasnia.


    The discussion was not too heated, even when one raised their voice. Neither Sagir nor his brother were mentioned, which was the only thing Zaber tried to pay attention to. Hanifa talked the most, by far, even though the bearded duo tried their best to not fall behind. The bristle-bearded one emphasized every word he spoke by hitting the table ever so lightly.


    After a while, the fifth member of their round returned to the table. He placed a tin cup with a dark and hot liquid in front of their guest. ¡°Savor on this, dear Zabir,¡± he said and sat down. ¡°We are greatly thankful of your joining.¡±


    This kind of welcome was a surprise. The man¡¯s face was as open as they got and Zaber bowed his head grateful before looking at the drink. ¡°Oh, I know this.¡± He wrapped his hands around the warm cup and took a sip. It was bitter and the smell was better than its taste.. ¡°Hmhmm¨C¡± Zaber tried to smile, but was sure he failed. ¡°This is expensive, how did you get your hands on it?¡±


    ¡°We do not have much. It is from one of our brethren who works in a guild storage.¡± The woman next to Hanifa spoke softly and tried to hide her amusement at Zaber¡¯s reaction. Her accent was similar to that of Hanifa.


    ¡°This is D¨©ny¨¡, she joined our Ma?lis in loss of ?afar¡±, said Hanifa. Everyone at the table raised their eyes and mumbled foreign words.


    ¡°The jolly fella with the missing eye?¡± Zaber lowered his voice. ¡°I think I met him with Ceyhan and Sagir.¡±


    ¡°His master decided he was too jolly,¡± said D¨©ny¨¡ and clenched her fist on the table. ¡°The children took a liking and said words in our tongue.¡±


    Zaber did not know how to reply. An awkward silence filled the room, so the veteran took the initiative and laid his hands open. ¡°I have sent Torm to talk to his friends at the Watch. Soon we¡¯ll know more about Sagir¡¯s whereabouts.¡± He looked at each and everyone of them. ¡°He will not be executed, I will get him out.¡±


    ¡°These,¡± Hanifa closed her eyes in pain before she continued. ¡°Are Yar??, Namak and Q¨­z¨¡n. We handle the affairs of our kin together.¡± She lead Zaber¡¯s eyes with her hand, starting with the man who made the kahve. Next were the pointy and the bristled beards. Hanifa waited for everyone to nod or bow and for their guest to return the gestures. ¡°Please, continue.¡±


    Zaber turned his hands, showing the scar at the back. He formed fists, and his brows narrowed with each subsequent word. ¡°I¡¯ve thought about this, and I have a plan. When Torm returns with what I need¨C¡±


    Q¨­z¨¡n interrupted him and placed a hand on Zaber¡¯s scarred hand. He also had numerous small scars running up his forearm. ¡°We have our own ways,¡± he said in perfect Upper Albinian, the regional dialect. ¡°A sister of ours told us that he won¡¯t be executed. The next batch of trials, accused of murder, rape and crimes against the crown, are fated for hard labor in a mine far away. Something about the Margrave¡¯s need to meet a requirement by your King.¡±


    The veteran leaned back on his stool and his eyes widened before they darkened even more. ¡°This ain¡¯t good. This is damned worse.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Namak stroked his pointy beard and bent towards Zaber. ¡°He will live and it will give us more time.¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯all have no idea. He will be sent to an Arcanium mine. The shit that¡¯s in an officer¡¯s arms and their dumb trinkets,¡± said Zaber.


    ¡°What does that word mean?¡± Namak folded his hands and looked at the rest of the round. His Albinian was good, but not without flaws.


    ¡°We call it Sirriyy¨±m,¡± said Hanifa. ¡°Or Gizliy¨±m for you.¡± Her words were directed at the men at the table.


    ¡°What is this about? The mines back home were also worked by outlaws and prisoners of war,¡± said Yar??, confused. ¡°My Dede was sent there before I was born.¡±


    ¡°We¨C¡± For the first time since Zaber knew her, Hanifa was reluctant in her speech. ¡°We might want to consult Kovada on this.¡±


    ¡°We ain¡¯t, I know everything we need,¡± said Zaber. ¡°It¡¯s a poison, even more so before they work it. This¡¯ as much a death sentence as a proper execution. Just longer and less pleasant.¡±


    Hanifa¡¯s jaw was pressed together, causing the muscles in her chiseled face to stand out even more. ¡°Then tell us your plan,¡± she said with grinding teeth. ¡°This is your fault, but we will provide you with everything that does not endanger our community.¡±


    ¡°Manpower,¡± said Zaber curtly and let the word seep in. ¡°I will have Asher provide us with all we need and I have friends outside the wall to assure our getaway. When Sagir gets transported to the courthouse, we will ambush it and bust him free.¡± His voice was filled with cold anticipation and he linked eyes with everyone. They looked shocked, as if Zaber was a madman. And frankly, he might¡¯ve been. ¡°Asher and I¡¯ll spearhead, fully tinned. I need two to protect our flanks, but we will bear the brunt of the work. One more, for a total of five, that is good with a crossbow.¡±


    ¡°Inan?lmaz,¡± said Namak and punched the table. ¡°Akl?n? kaybetmi?tir!¡± He was furious and cursed, unintelligible to Zaber. Namak¡¯s arms flailed in anger.


    ¡°And what then?¡± Q¨­z¨¡n¡¯s shoulders trembled. The two men on either side of Zaber moved in dangerous ways, but their guest remained unfazed. ¡°If five of our kin were caught, they¡¯ll punish all of us. How can you believe you will get away with this?¡± He took the hot beverage in front of Zaber and drank from it to calm down.


    ¡°It will be one or two caged wagons, towed by two or four horses. An escort of six, two on each flank, one crossbowman on top of the cages. And one man-at-arms next to the coachman. The rest will be clad in maille or paddings. Asher and I handle one flank each and they will be cut down before they realize what is happening.¡± Zaber was confident and painted the scenario with his fingers on the table. ¡°Just guards, no sweat. If you have any among you with a professional background, this ain¡¯t hard. I¡¯ll scout the escape routes ahead.¡±


    D¨©ny¨¡ had folded her hands in front of her chin and mustered Zaber. The gears in her head shifted visibly before she laid her palms on the table. ¡°Seeing a man plan his own death with glee is exciting, for sure. But even if you succeed, Zabir, what will this do for Sagir and our kin who aids you? If he is already dead, we can¡¯t sacrifice five more.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll cross the river to the east and escape through Gal¨¢zion. We¡¯ll have everything prepped, and with my friend¡¯s help, we can live off bark and berries,¡± said Zaber and straightened his posture. For the first time, he did not look tense and uncomfortable. ¡°Asher has plenty contacts in Gal¨¢zion. We¡¯ll reach the sea, I will pay for a boat, and we will sail to your homelands.¡±


    The woman with the dotted face reached out at Zaber and grabbed his hand. She looked him deep into the eyes in search of reason. The veteran flinched at first, but he let it happen. The moment was only interrupted by the hard knock of a tin cup. Hanifa had snatched it and emptied it in one go.


    ¡°Ceyhan would have liked that. Loved even. I vote in favor of it,¡± she said and looked at the rest. ¡°We won¡¯t force anybody to join you. If none agrees to your madness, none shall be at your side.¡± She smiled and raised one eyebrow at Zaber. ¡°Which does not relieve you of your promise.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡± Zaber smiled back. ¡°I am sure you can make their disappearance plausible. Their faces will be covered.¡±


    Even while he was still talking, a chaotic conversation broke out around Zaber. It was hard to figure out who was on whose side, but soon the two women were yelling at the two beards. Yar?? fell silent and refilled the cup with more kahve. He only said an occasional word or two that did not gain a lot of attention from his peers. Zaber could do nothing but listen. He remained calm even when D¨©ny¨¡ pulled out a knife and jammed it into the table.


    ¡°You two are so clearly from Yaylalar, all you know is hiding! Old cowards, the ways of us are beyond you,¡± she yelled so loud that even Hanifa tried to make her sit down again. ¡°I don¡¯t know who this Ceyhan was and I do not care. If Hanifa¡¯s words can be trusted, so can the words of the beyaz?. If he is willing to kill himself for us, I will not stand in his way.¡±


    ¡°We have been here much longer than you, we know¨C¡± Namak stood up and grabbed the knife. Before he could pull it out, Hanifa and D¨©ny¨¡ interrupted him. The latter grabbed the old fella¡¯s hands across the table and led them into her face, making him feel every marking.


    ¡°Tell me they don¡¯t deserve it. Tell it to my face,¡± said D¨©ny¨¡ in pain.


    Zaber had expected controversy. If he was a different man, he might not believe in it either. But this was not his first fight, not his first raid and not his first war. He and his friends had been behind enemy lines before, and survived. All he needed were his comrades and Zaber knew that they would stand with him. He just needed to ask and they would come.


    ¡°I wish to see my wife and sons again,¡± said Yar?? from behind the stove. It was barely visible behind his facial hair, but he bit his lips and his eyes had watered up. ¡°I will be your first volunteer. You need capable warriors and I have been a Yaya on two campaigns. Provide me with arms and I¡¯ll do fine work.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯ve served, I know you can fling a javelin,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Thinking about it, I am a dumbarse. Surely, you need a bow, not a crossbow.¡±


    Namak and Q¨­z¨¡n fell quiet and looked at their own laps, ashamed. The bristle-bearded one choked up at the words of his friend. Hanifa, though, ignored them and spoke out.


    ¡°Three against two. That means all of us will support the plan.¡± She nodded determinedly. ¡°You have to give us all the details up front, so nobody we approach will feel tricked.¡± Hanifa stood up and held her hand in front of Zaber, who shook it without a second thought.


    The old pair exchanged foreign whispers. Then, the pointy-bearded member of their council leaned onto the table to look at Hanifa and D¨©ny¨¡, not Zaber. ¡°Nazik and Van were Sekban back home,¡± he said. Zaber did not know many of their words, but Yaya and Sekban were well understood. The latter were peasant mercenaries, like him and his friends. ¡°They are the kind of youthful fools you are looking for.¡±


    ¡°They tend horses for the Carters Guild. They are excellent riders too,¡± added Hanifa.


    ¡°I want you to take my sister, Seyfe, with you,¡± said D¨©ny¨¡. ¡°We were¨C¡±, she halted in a struggle to find the right words. A look at Hanifa for help followed. ¡°How do they say?¡±


    ¡°Bandits. You were bandits.¡± Hanifa looked very serious at D¨©ny¨¡. ¡°Are you sure you want her to go without you?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I see how our master looks at her.¡± D¨©ny¨¡¡¯s eyes flickered like flames. Her lips trembled in wrath. ¡°If I don¡¯t get her out now, he will do to her as he did to me¡­ which means his wife will too.¡±


    Zaber had not foreseen the kind of emotions displayed. Seeing D¨©ny¨¡ and Hanifa like this made him feel even more guilty. They would have made formidable soldiers in his plan, but too many gambled their success at withdrawing. The thought had sprung up before, but he knew his limits. All he was capable of, how to fix things. What he was taught. The only thing he was good at.


    ¡°One more,¡± said Zaber. ¡°And I know who I want.¡±


    ¡°It is not on you to demand any¨C¡±, Hanifa raised her voice, but couldn¡¯t finish.


    ¡°Ask that bear outside.¡± Zaber pointed with his thumb behind him. Roughly in the direction of the door he came through. ¡°The way he follows you around, he¡¯s your best, ain¡¯t he?¡±


    Hanifa sighed and closed her eyes. The rest of the table exchanged nervous gazes, as if a taboo had been broken. ¡°His name is Kovada and he does not appreciate to be named an animal,¡± said Hanifa after regaining her composure. ¡°He is a proud man. And he hates you.¡±


    ¡°His value is beyond the Stars, the gallant Kovada cannot be bothered with¨C¡±, Q¨­z¨¡n spoke mild mannered, but in great fury.


    ¡°If I ask him, he will follow,¡± interjected Hanifa. ¡°And I will ask him. This is what he has awaited for a long time.¡± She stood up and walked around the table. ¡°The meeting is over. Come with me,¡± she said. ¡°You will speak to him with utmost respect. You will never order him around like a mere soldier. You will call him by his name and nothing else.¡± She put her hand on Zaber¡¯s shoulder and dragged him up. ¡°Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± nodded Zaber and followed, just like he used to.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not waste any more time. You have work to do.¡±

 Chapter 8 - Day Zero

    Chapter 8


    Day Zero ¨C Evening


    The Stars of the Stag shone brightly upon the City of Teblen and the great General Airich had been dead for two moon cycles. His regiments had been dissolved, and their remnants and successors scattered throughout the Kingdom of Albion. A dozen days ago, Asher and Zaber had arrived in the capital of the Margraviate of Tunow-Aine. Their friends had kept to the woods and fields, outside the city, and Zaber¡¯s ward had been left behind in their new home.


    The pair of former mercenaries had walked through Red Cat Alley and stood in front of a well-lit house, many stories high. The ground-floor is all stone with half-timber on top of it. Its decorations were the most tasteful of the entire street, which did not say much. Of all the buildings in Westwatch, none could compete with The Red Carpet brothel.


    ¡°I promise you,¡± said Asher and adjusted his new leather gloves. ¡°This is our, your, kind of job. It¡¯s just what you need; I know you.¡± He donned a new sword and dagger in the style of the local patricians. Straight, very pointy, but still sturdy. His payout from years of soldiering was invested in better garments as well. Like the bright blue and slim leathered gambeson he wore. A perfect fit. His dark hair was tied back and his goatee freshly barbered. He looked as neat as they get, if it weren¡¯t for the double scar running along his cheek.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need the coin,¡± said Zaber and scratched the scar along his jaw. He looked the exact same way as when they had come. The same as on campaign. He never looked much different, if Asher had to be honest. He did not shave and the short sleeved gambeson, with the high collar, had seen better days. ¡°And neither do you. You can just ask me.¡±


    ¡°We are our own men now, Zaber. You and I, we gonna make it.¡± Asher smiled in gloom and pressed his knuckles against his friend¡¯s chest. ¡°Today, everyone will learn our names.¡±


    ¡°In a whorehouse?¡± The greasy and unkempt man smiled back. He had avoided looking at any of the professionals that occupied the street. And still did so.


    ¡°In. A. Whorehouse,¡± repeated Asher and inspected the building in anticipation. ¡°Let¡¯s go, we¡¯re already late because of the shitbrat.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll learn,¡± said Zaber and rolled up the sleeves of the rugged shirt under his gambeson. ¡°After you.¡±


    The moment Asher touched the knob of the massive wooden door, ornamented with colored glass, a drunkard came out; he nearly toppled over and the stench of sweat and alcohol erupted into their faces. Its main source was not the man. They stepped aside before stepping in.


    Men of all paths sat all around the parlor-room, playing dice and cards and drinking schnapps and beer and wine. Women of all ages and sizes served and kept them company. They wore clothes that stood out more for what they lacked than for what they had. A small stage, opposite to the long bar counter, had two of the wenches play a vielle and a shawm. The well-known song they played, of Lady Luck and her Favors, was performed wonderfully. But it wasn¡¯t loud enough to drown out the ubiquitous sound of sex in this joyous place.


    Nobody noticed of the pair except for one waitress with half her goods hanging out. Zaber intuitively looked up, as if she had a second face above her head, while Asher put on his most charming smile.


    ¡°Darlin¡¯, know what ya lookin¡¯ for, or do ya need to sit down and get some liquid inspiration first?¡± She carried a tray with empty glasses and mugs on it. Some still had a sip or more in it.


    ¡°Blessed be you, dear miss.¡± Asher winked at the woman and looked around the parlor that was more like a small, run-down ballroom. ¡°We have an appointment with the Madam. Could you be a darling and point us at her?¡±


    When the waitress opened her mouth, Zaber picked a half-empty mug from her and chugged it down. A surprised laughter interfered with her initial reply. ¡°Are ya sure ya friend doesn¡¯t want a fresh one? If he¡¯s only into flats, he ain¡¯t going to like the Madam.¡±


    Asher copied her laughter and swatted his hand over Zaber. It was painful how uncomfortable his friend looked. ¡°I assure you, he is doing ¡®aight. Are you?¡± He looked at his friend.


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod.


    ¡°You¡¯s a funny bunch,¡± giggled the waitress and walked a couple of steps to the counter. She put down the tray and pointed at the broad stairway, at the end of the bar. It led up to a balustrade with plenty rooms. ¡°Up and to the right. The one with the daisy.¡±


    Both veterans nodded gratefully and headed up. The smoother one strolled up without a care, but his tense companion let his gaze wander for the first time. From an elevated position, counting the lowlifes, windows and doors to backrooms and behind the stage and counter.


    ¡°No hired muscle,¡± reported Zaber more to himself than to his friend. ¡°Couple patricians, two armed men.¡± One was hard to spot, with a wench sitting on his lap, obscuring the crude blade he had hung at the backrest. Another man¡¯s longsword, sheathed in leather, leaned against a wall next to him. There was a cupboard next to the entrance. Most drinking halls have their guests leave steel behind. But there was nobody to enforce such a thing.


    There were many doors left and right the hallways, up on the balustrade. Signs with different flowers, for the illiterate, guided customers to their desires. Another stairway at the end. The one they were looking for was unmistakable, as it was the only one with a double leaf door. Someone else was already waiting in front of it, hugging a quarterstaff engraved with foreign letters. Thick black hair and the brightest dark a pair of eyes could be. Wide pantaloons gave him plenty room to move and a simple green tunic was held together with a red cloth belt. A patterned piece of cloth peeked out of it, which Zaber and Asher recognized. It was a turban.


    ¡°Greetings, stranger,¡± Asher examined the man head to toe. ¡°Here for a quick coin?¡±


    ¡°So are you?¡± The man checked on the pair¡¯s weaponry ¨C and their scars. He himself had small markings in his face. Not the kind earned in combat.


    ¡°Did you knock?¡± Zaber stepped up, but he was held back before his knuckles reached the wood. His eyes wandered upwards the stranger¡¯s arm until he stared him into the face.


    ¡°What? Don¡¯t like to be touched by a dirty murker? The Madam¡¯s busy. She¡¯ll let us in when she¡¯s ready¡­ is what she said.¡±


    Asher leaned back and watched his friend stare down the Yesilian. There was no reason to doubt his words, so waiting was in line.


    ¡°Don¡¯t like to be touched. Full stop,¡± said Zaber after a while and pulled his hand back. ¡°We all?¡±


    Another voice joined in on the conversation. ¡°One more,¡± said a man in a well tailored gambeson. Jack chains were fastened to his arms and shoulders and a good pair of boots made the floor creak. He was on the older side, with a well groomed beard and black hair that was overtaken by gray. A scar ran through his nose and an uptwirling mustache grew under it. He wore a good arming sword and rondel dagger at the side.


    Out of nowhere, the door opened. ¡°Ruwer?¡± A strawberry-blonde woman in fair clothing, barely scratching thirty, stepped outside. She caught both Zaber and the Yesilian off guard, who were still eyeing each other. None of them were startled, but their heads still snapped to the side. ¡°By the Stars, more came.¡± In a place like this, the madam had all the traits of a formidable price. No visible markings and fabrics that reflected on a high status. Higher than the woman that led a young patrician upstairs. And deep green eyes that were intrigued by the four men. ¡°Please, come in and take a seat. Waiting any longer will only depress me further.¡±


    Her movements were not inviting, but her words were clear. She paced back in and let herself fall into a cushioned armchair, poofing up her fancy dress as she landed. One by one, her misshapen entourage entered the room. The older man she called Ruwer found himself a chest to sit on. He displayed much confidence, spreading his legs. Zaber and the foreigner positioned themselves out of the way on the sides since both preferred to stand. With too much to see, the greasy and unkempt man avoided the Madam¡¯s gaze. His companion, Asher, on the other hand, outdid the confidence of Ruwer. He strolled right through the room and seated himself on the pompous canopy bed. It matched the energy of the room; raunchy yet exquisite.


    ¡°You are that Asher fellow?¡± The Madam¡¯s eyes followed him with a raised brow. ¡°You promised to bring three men.¡±


    ¡°And I was told there might be a dozen to follow your call,¡± said Asher, with a smug grin. His hands felt out the materials around him, deprived of comfort. ¡°My other acquaintances had to decline my request for personal reasons. Be assured, Madam, I brought all the men you¡¯ll need.¡±


    ¡°Formal and sassy,¡± Marghe rolled her eyes and fixed her posture, pressing out her back to make the front shine. ¡°I¡¯ll let that slide, if you turn out to be more than all-talk.¡± She looked through the room and bestowed a pleasant smile upon everyone. ¡°I am Marghe, the Madam of this here ¨C my ¨C establishment. And I want to thank you, deeply, for following my call.¡± She kicked herself up from the chair, fixed her draped hair, and tamed loose strands. ¡°I will not dance around my troubles. Before my dear mother was stricken down by disease ¨C be she among the Stars¡­¡± She folded her hands ever so faintly and looked at the ceiling. ¡°¡­ protection of this here ¨C my ¨C establishment, was put into the caring hands of the Red Mob. What appeared to be a wise choice at the time, has turned foolish. An escalating dispute between them and the Morell Brothers has reached a point where my patience with our former partners is depleted,¡± spoke Marghe and paced up and down the room. She was not talking to any of the four men directly and her words more so filled the entire chamber. A chamber with a particular smell. Something primal, drenched in perfumes. ¡°I cannot afford to spend good coin on men who aren¡¯t good and can¡¯t keep their promises. But even less so do I want the Morell brutes to take over their responsibilities.¡±


    ¡°That was a lot of words,¡± said Ruwer and leaned forward on the chest. His gaze stung, and his voice was inquisitive. ¡°What are the specifications?¡±


    ¡°I need a new provider of long-term security for me and my girls,¡± said Marghe. She walked up to Ruwer, making herself look tall and imposing in front of him. ¡°And I would appreciate if you would do me the honors.¡± Her body language was demanding, yet her voice was pleading. ¡°But I also need some capable hands to fend off the inevitable visit. I have expected more, and¨C¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the heathen doing here?¡± Ruwer pointed at the man with the quarterstaff. ¡°I¡¯m not working with curveblades.¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± implores Marghe. ¡°This is Ceyhan and he is here for reasons. It is a complicated matter, but their close vicinity to my establishment brings its own vantages.¡± She moved in the middle of the room, between everyone. Asher and Zaber noticed the lack of malice in her eyes when she looked at the foreigner. ¡°I have spoken to their leaders. If you work here, they make for a perfect cavalry.¡±


    ¡°There is no collaborating with animals,¡± Ruwer stood up and smoothed out his garments. ¡°Your house has a good reputation, all over Teblen. I came here because your mother, Orla, was an honorable whore and I am in need for a more suitable occupation at my old age.¡± His boots weighed heavy, again, as he walked out. ¡°But this; I can¡¯t tolerate. I will not report this to my higher-ups in the guild. Send for me when you got your damned mind in order, Marghe.¡±


    The man had barked his last word and Marghe tried to hold him back. Her steps were quick, and when her hands landed on his shoulders, he turned around. Ruwer reached for her hand, but held something different instead. Asher had moved when Marghe moved, and outpaced her.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t recommend that,¡± said Asher. His steps were quite the opposite of heavy and so he intercepted Ruwer¡¯s in kind. The smooth veteran and the old guildsword held each other¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Oh, and why is that so?¡± Ruwer moved Marghe to the side with his other arm and presented his weapons to the room. A posture that exuded experience.


    ¡°¡¯cause I will kill you, if you do,¡± said Zaber. He walked right behind his friend, sidelining the Madam as well.


    A long silence ran through the room. The exact reason why this establishment needed security was occurring and Marghe had enough of it. She threw her arms up bumping into all three knuckleheads. Her gaze hit Ceyhan, who looked just as out of depth. Again, she let herself fall into the cozy big chair and her dress poofed up. ¡°Fine. Kill each other. Right now. End my misery¡±, she said. ¡°What does a girl have to do, to do her whoring in peace?!¡±


    ¡°Have it your way.¡± Ruwer spoke slow and threateningly, still staring at Asher and Zaber. ¡°Do your damned business in peace; I¡¯m out. I¡¯ll leave you with these nobodies and the savage.¡± He turned, ungrabbed, and walked away without hurry. He shook his head in disbelief, out of the room.


    ¡°Fine. Perfect. Excellent,¡± lamented Marghe. She didn¡¯t try to stop Ruwer this time, but her eyes and groans yearned for him to stay.


    Where Zaber lingered on Ruwer, until the door closed, Asher had turned around. With raised, bopping hands, to calm the Madam down, he sauntered through the room. ¡°No need to lose it. The three of us are all you need to fend off your visitors. Go on and tell us the time and place¨C¡±


    ¡°Today. Any moment.¡± Marghe looked frustrated. ¡°You have no damned idea. Ruwer is among the most profitable and well-known of the Sellsword Guild. Years on campaign and the most sought after judicial champion in Teblen.¡± Marghe leaned forward and placed her elbows on her spread knees, shaking her head into her hands. ¡°His name alone could have solved this. Why is your kind so fucking dumb?¡±


    ¡°What kind?¡± Ceyhan asked suspiciously. He used his quarterstaff as a walking cane and moved closer to the rest of the group.


    ¡°Not you,¡± said Marghe and looked up. ¡°We are golden. Hanifa and I already made a deal and you did not strut around like a pheasant. Flashing your steely feathers. It¡¯s men like these dumbarses¨C¡±


    ¡°Quit it already,¡± interrupted Asher. ¡°You asked for fighters and we are what you got. Tell us how many and how good they are.¡±


    ¡°I swear, if I am interrupted one more time, I will do unspeakable things. This is my house.¡± Marghe stood up and readjusted her hair once more. ¡°Ceyhan, can¡¯t you assassinate the Morell Brothers? Don¡¯t you have anyone among your ranks that could?¡±


    An awkward silence swept through the room. Ceyhan¡¯s eyes shifted left and right and he hesitated to answer. ¡°Are you serious? No, we can¡¯t. How do you even come up with that?¡±


    The Madam sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I thought¨C¡± She grasped for words.


    Zaber watched Ceyhan closely when he was confronted with the question. His brows narrowed and he scratched the scar at his jaw. ¡°We asked about their manpower and capacity.¡± He used the gap in her speech. ¡°Find yourself a porch dog later and let this man and his folk be your insurance. I¡¯ll handle the rest,¡± he said and cracked his neck.


    ¡°Oh, the great killer has spoken,¡± said Marghe and rolled her eyes. ¡°They are called The Red Mob and number in the thirties or fifties, I don¡¯t know. Most of them are thieves and muggers and charlatans.¡± She walked up to Zaber, but avoided his stare. Instead, she inspected his attire with great care. ¡°My mother was close to their old leader, only a few of them are good in a brawl, I¡¯d say. The Morells, though, are barbarous. Salm and his two closest are good, one strong and one sly. He said he wants to re-negotiate terms with the new Madam, me, today.¡±


    ¡°I assume she doesn¡¯t want blood on her floor. Let¡¯s head out and kill them there,¡± said Asher and checked if his new blade was sliding in and out of its sheath with ease. It did.


    ¡°NO! Not at all.¡± Marghe¡¯s voice pitched up. ¡°Please, do not kill them. This is a parley, many of them are good customers. Can¡¯t we just come off as strong and maybe knock some sense into them? Stand behind me and look mean¡­¡± She looked at Asher, who was smiling and shaking his head. Then at Ceyhan, who reacted with an appropriate grimace when realizing what was asked of him. And lastly at Zaber. ¡°Yes, like this. I have to give it to this one, he is doing a great job at the looks.¡±


    At this very moment, several vitreous clashes and muffled outcries rang through the door and walls. Someone was calling for Marghe, the croaking and upbeat voice of a man.


    ¡°Be the Griffon with us, that¡¯s them,¡± said Marghe. ¡°I will speak to them, this is my house. Do ¨C not ¨C interrupt ¨C me ¨C again. Understood?¡± She looked at Asher and Zaber, not Ceyhan. Somewhat rash, her voice had shifted firmly into fierce. She tamed loose strains of her hair, once more, and adjusted the bodice of her dress upwards. Not to hide, but to bring forth the best of her.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Asher reached out for Marghe, like Ruwer, but got held back by his greasy and unkempt companion. Though it was still enough to gain the Madam¡¯s attention ¡°Pay?¡± Asher smiled.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Marghe¡¯s eyes were wide and empty. She looked at the smoother one of the rude pair, obliviously.


    ¡°What¡¯s the pay?¡± emphasized Asher, rubbing his thumb over his middle and index finger, right in front of her face.


    ¡°Uhm¨C¡± Time was marching fast and Marghe¡¯s thoughts were rushed. It worsened with every yell of her name from the parlor room. ¡°One silver coin each, for being here. For every fellow you fell, you get one more.¡±


    ¡°Roll out,¡± turned Asher to Zaber and pointed onward, by the tip of his bycocket hat. ¡°You know the routine.¡±


    ¡°Hold on!¡± the Madam rushed even more. ¡°I take half of it away for any you kill.¡±


    The pair of veterans gave a curt salute, but moved out without hesitation. A stifled laughter appeared next to Marghe. It grew into a wholehearted one, and Ceyhan looked at her as left-behind as the Madam herself.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°What?¡± shrugged Ceyhan, caught. ¡°I think you just told them that Mob lives are worth half a silver.¡± Ceyhan spun his quarterstaff around with a kick at its lower end. He wielded it like a yoke and stepped outside as well, where all three men built a corridor for Marghe.


    ¡°Maaar~ghe,¡± yelled a man, slightly older than the Madam, across the brothel. He wore a plain, old, and open padded jack, similar to what many guards had. The same kind of arming sword too. The gray strands in his hair were almost invisible in the bright blonde thatch. It was held together by a red piece of cloth, folded around his head. ¡°Marghe~he!¡± His voice pitched up and down. ¡°Come out and talk to me, bitch!¡±


    A literal mob of scoundrels had lined up behind their ringleader, each more grim than the last. Around their heads, arms and even legs, each and every one was marked with red fabrics. They had brought cudgels and daggers. To Asher¡¯s and Zaber¡¯s trained eyes, two of them stood out. Right behind the fella, who had to be Salm, a hulking brute carried a riveted club on a leather knot. Wild, dark hair, kept in check by a red bandana. A half-open padded jack, in washed-out black, showing off some chest hair. Next to him was a shifty fella with a milky-scarred eye who was scanning the room. His brown padding fit like a glove and his cloth marking was wrapped around a shoulder. His gaze stung like the dagger in his belt when the Madam revealed herself.


    ¡°Oh Queen of Harlots, you have summoned us,¡± said Salm, laughed and bowed. ¡°So, what the fuck do you want?¡±


    The music had ceased and customers and women alike fell silent. Every slurp of a drink, or rolling coins, boomed like screams. Those faint of heart tried to wiggle themselves outside. Most were too curious, though, or worked here.


    Marghe bent over the balustrade and looked down. ¡°Cut the crap, Salm. I only wanted to talk to you¡­ but your underlings are cordially invited to sit their arses down and find a service to their liking,¡± she said and looked at her girls. ¡°First drink¡¯s on the house.¡±


    The pair of veterans made sure that they were seen and looked mean. Zaber glimpsed behind himself and waved with two fingers at Ceyhan to join. ¡°Fourteen, but only three threats,¡± he said and got a nod from Asher. Their fellow from far away didn¡¯t follow the routine but understood.


    ¡°Bitch, do you take me for a fool?¡± Salm called off the invitation. Some of his men were already following it, until he clapped. Loud. ¡°We got word from the streets that you were getting some muscle ¨C so I brought mine. And made sure that folk would think twice to come here.¡± He walked up the counter and grabbed the beer off a poor fella, who took the note and scrammed. ¡°So, you wanna break your old whore-mother¡¯s arrangement and find yourself some hot new hands?¡±


    The shifty one gesticulated orders with his hands and eye, and the Mob would spread through the parlor-room. Soon enough, every woman had a crook next to her. Noticeably, they kept their distance to the armed customers. Asher and Zaber had long spotted Ruwer in the crowd. The fella assigned to him and the wenches on stage went straight past him. Instead, the thug placed himself far away¡­ next to nothing.


    ¡°My dear mother, be she among the Stars¨C¡± said Marghe and her eyes went up. ¡°Did good business with you lot. But this is my house now, and you have not fulfilled your end of the bargain in a long time. And you know the rules of this ¨C my ¨C house. If¨C¡±


    Salm chugged down the beer and stomped the mug so hard that it interrupted the Madam. ¡°Yea, yea, fuck you. Do you even hear yourself talking? You¨C¡±


    ¡°Fuck you!¡± Marghe yelled back, infuriated. ¡°You will wait until I¡¯m done. If you disrespect me in my house again, I will have you thrown out.¡± She knocked against the railing of the balustrade. Elevated like this, her voice sounded more imposing than standing directly in front of her and Marghe used this to her advantage. She stood tall and her posture was nigh majestic. ¡°If you don¡¯t receive a service in my house, you do not pay for it. And you have failed your service to me.¡±


    ¡°Bitch, you are disrespecting me in front of everyone,¡± said Salm and smashed the mug. ¡°My daddy loved your mother and that is the only reason why I kept his word. We are more than bare business associates and you know that. If you throw everything out, why even still call it The Red Carpet?¡± He kicked pieces of the mug around and flailed his arms in anger. But not for a moment did he not look at Marghe. ¡°You ain¡¯t even a damned ginger!¡±


    ¡°But mother was, and this is her legacy!¡± The conversation devolved more and more into a shouting match. The Madam bent so much over the balustrade that some of her girls feared she might jump. ¡°You cannot handle the Morells anymore. Be honest to yourself and focus on whatever horseshit you and your wastrels have going on.¡±


    ¡°We are from the same mold,¡± grumbled Salm and looked for another drink. The waitress recognized it and acted fast. ¡°Bitch, you and me go way back¨C¡± He gulped down another beer. ¡°Why can¡¯t you trust me? We are keeping them out of Westwatch. This is our turf and that includes you and the girls.¡± He stomped around the parlor-room and made many liquids judder. His steps led him towards the stairs.


    ¡°Stay down! you are not allowed up here.¡± Marghe turned to the side and ran to the stairs, in a desperate attempt to block them. ¡°I believe that you try your best, but I need assurance. You know why you can¡¯t see your beloved Alna right now?¡± She and Salm stared at each other but Marghe had the high ground.


    ¡°Wha¨C¡±


    ¡°Because she¡¯s at the barber,¡± said Marghe with pinched lips. ¡°Carrying her teeth in a bag.¡±


    ¡°Are you fucking with me?¡± The ringleader set foot on the first step of the staircase. It provoked Asher, Zaber and Ceyhan to move from behind Marghe. ¡°Which one of them? Why didn¡¯t you tell me right away?!¡± Salm clenched his fists and eyed the men backing the Madam.


    Asher pushed his arms back, stretching a crack. He took a step in front of Marghe, with a big smile on his face. ¡°Let me take over this negotiation. This leads to nowhere¨C¡± Everyone looked at him confused. Everyone but Zaber, who kept an eye on the Mob.


    ¡°No he¡¯s not,¡± said Marghe and tried to wiggle herself in front again. ¡°Listen Salm, I know you lot are good-natured at heart, but you¡¯re not cut out to fight the Morells. You¡¯re thieves and frauds and whatsnot. What I need right now is a ruthless murderer,¡± she sounded miserable and all felt it. ¡°To settle this for good.¡±


    ¡°And this is where we come in,¡± said Asher and walked down the stairs, leaving the Madam behind. He stopped in the middle, to keep the high ground too. ¡°As you can see, we are merely three, and you are fourteen. Rest assured, we can show you our credentials in the utmost peaceful ways possible.¡± His motions were big and wide and true showmanship shone through. He spoke more so to the room than to Salm and presented his body and arms alike.


    ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡± asked Salm belligerently. He tilted his head while looking at Asher, but also Zaber and Ceyhan. ¡°Is that a murker? You trusting a sandfuck more than us?¡±


    Salm threw the jug that the waitress had given him at Asher. If it was bad aim, lack of intention or great skill on the smooth veteran¡¯s side wasn¡¯t clear. But with just a shift of his head, the glass missed and shattered at the wall behind Marghe and the rest. Beer was splattered everywhere, when Zaber unbuckled his belt and his weaponry hit the ground. The sound of metal on wood attracted the attention of the room, just as Asher did before him. Zaber knew how to play his part and behind his face of stone was a satisfied voice.


    ¡°Keep an eye on that,¡± said Zaber to Marghe and Ceyhan, before walking down the staircase and past Asher.


    The third, armed with his quarterstaff, also moved down but was held back. ¡°Let my friend do his thing, while I do mine. Lay back, earn some easy coin,¡± said Asher to Ceyhan and followed Zaber to the bottom. ¡°This here man and myself have served under the Grand General Airich. But we have not come to bloody our hands as we did under his leadership!¡± Asher was like a carnival barker. He and his friend did not pay much notice to Salm when they passed him, left and right, flanking him. Asher also let go of his weapons as a show of good will. ¡°We three against all of you! Face him first¡­,¡± Asher presented Zaber with a swift swoosh of his hand. ¡°Until you defeat him. I will become your next opponent, before you may fight our strongest¨C¡± He turned around and was awestruck at the sight of Ceyhan, whose face became grim in confusion. ¡°A man of ruthless reputation, a savage animal of the Sultan¡¯s hordes!¡±


    Salm stepped backwards, doubting himself and what he was seeing. His right and left hand men backed him up, with the sly one shrugging. The brute had lost himself in the spectacle, clenching his fists at Zaber¡¯s sight.


    ¡°Alri¨C¡± Salm stopped himself from being careless. ¡°Wait,¡± he said and linked eyes with Marghe once more. ¡°Do you agree to this?¡±


    The Madam inspected the mood of all her girls and witnessed excitement in her customers. The thought of cockfighting got them all riled up and Marghe was defeated by it. ¡°Any chance I can reason with you, Salm? For old time¡¯s sake?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The head of the Red Mob smiled and shrugged the owner of this, her, establishment off. ¡°Herk,¡± said Salm and looked at the hulking brute. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. ¡°I want this man to slurp broth for the rest of his life.¡± He turned to the rest of his crew. ¡°Down with the steel and hard-knocks.¡±


    ¡°Perfect,¡± groaned Marghe and buried her head in her hands. She let herself fall onto the upmost stair and sat down. She pushed her feet out beneath her dress and pulled the laces off her ankle boots. ¡°Have it your way. Be stupid.¡± She threw one shoe after another at Salm and missed him so much that there was no reason to flinch. Ceyhan sat down next to her. He looked just as overwhelmed as she did. But if anyone had the ability to settle into the impuissance of a situation, it was the Yesilians. And at least one of them behaved, Marghe thought.


    The moment everyone had dropped their weapons, the women scrammed and the men cheered. Stools and chairs and tables were moved to make room for Zaber and Herk. The brute was already waiting in front of the counter, while Zaber got his path blocked by Salm. The ringleader walked around the greasy and unkempt man, eyeing him up from head to toe. A scoff later and Salm pulled a chair away from one of the customers and sat down at a prominent position. To have a good view.


    ¡°You motherfuckers think we¡¯re scared when you throw around big names like Airich?¡± Salm stated unimpressed. He gave Asher a good, long look as well, when the sly veteran positioned himself right next to the ringleader. ¡°I know a damned conman when I see one.¡±


    ¡°With the Stag as our witness, all you good fellas have heard the agreement!¡± Asher took off his bycocket hat and held it in front of himself. ¡°Five of my gulden say that these three mean looking crooks here will get their arses whooped. And a groschen for each of the sorry rest,¡± he yelled and poured the announced coins into the headwear. ¡°Closest to the outcome takes all, divided among the winners!¡±


    ¡°What. Is. Happening,¡± said Marghe when she saw how many of her customers flocked over to Asher. Meanwhile, Zaber and Herk just stood there, surrounded by folk. Like animals that sniffed each other out¡­ staring. ¡°My business¡­¡± she whined.


    ¡°I¨C¡± Ceyhan stuttered and shook his head. ¡°I have no idea. But you know what?¡± He looked at the Madam and tried to cheer her up. ¡°I¡¯m here for it. I cannot imagine anything more fun than watching some beyaz? mess each other up.¡±


    Marghe sighed and lightened up. ¡°Nothing else to do but watch my ruin, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The audience saw how both men prepared themselves mentally. The sight incited the audience and their mood began to boil. Waiting for a starting signal.


    Herk had a full head and multiple pounds on Zaber, whose stature wasn¡¯t weak but small in comparison. To start, the veteran threw a feinted jab at Herk. To provoke a reaction. Any reaction. But this was not your average street fraud, he was big and had some professional background. The giant tried to grab the slow punch. But it came short on purpose and Zaber switched to a quick low kick at Herk¡¯s knee at the last breath.


    The giant wasn¡¯t fast, but he could tank a hit like this with ease and still throw a haymaker to follow up. The fight had begun and Zaber blocked the retaliation with a raised elbow and a step towards his foe. A firm grip around the arm, in one swift motion. The leverage was there and Zaber lifted Herk over his shoulder.


    The crowd was in awe when the hulking brute smashed back-first into the counter. Zaber knew that a fella of this size wouldn¡¯t go down easy, thus he lunged after him with another kick. The kick was aimed at the back of Herk¡¯s head, but his skull was too thick for even that. After a dire roar from the impact, the brute turned and swung an aimless backhand, right at the scar on Zaber¡¯s jaw.


    After three hits, just one was enough to stagger the greasy and unkempt man to the side. Zaber crouched and stumbled, raising his arms in a reflexive defense. Space was once more established between the two, but Herk was on the move. The biggest of the Mob was wide open and couldn¡¯t walk straight, but he was a threat nonetheless. Until an uppercut shot him right in the nuts. Out of nowhere. Equally aimless as the backhand before.


    Zaber might have been the smaller man, but he had regained composure first. Standing tall, he stepped next to a whimpering Herk. A fist would not do for a fella of this size. Zaber raised his leg high for a coup de grace and double knocked Herk¡¯s head on the floor. Coins downright rained into Asher¡¯s hat and the room was hollering.


    ¡°Boo!¡±


    ¡°Bullshit!¡±


    The run-down veteran just stood there and looked at the crowd and criminals. No change in breath, no sweat to see. ¡°Forget what my friend said.¡± Zaber wiped his jaw. ¡°You don¡¯t need to go one-by-one. Don¡¯t stand around and let me wait!¡±


    ¡°We honor our words!¡± yelled Salm and stood up, angered. ¡°Unlike others.¡± He looked up at Marghe.


    The Madam held both her hands in front of her mouth, shocked. She knew many of these fellas for her entire life. Grew up with them. Star-forsaken souls, born into the wrong lives. But Herk was not just anybody among them. He had always been the biggest kid in Westwatch, ever since they were young. A gentle giant, until pressed into joining the Watch and thrown into jail. She once saw him tear apart a guard¡¯s shield with his bare hands.


    ¡°I¨C¡±, she mumbled. ¡°I was overthinking this.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Ceyhan looked gleefully outraged. The mob had pestered his kind for long enough, second only to the damned dogs of The Baronet. ¡°Look at him go.¡±


    While the next fighter was jumping into action, right into an outstretched elbow, Marghe gave Ceyhan only a side-eye. To not miss the spectacle. ¡°I¡¯ll just hire this monster to kill the Morells,¡± she said, as they watched one after another getting thrown around by close grapples or knocked out by brutal strikes to vital areas. Ears, throats, nothing seemed sacred to Zaber. To finish them fast.


    ¡°Don¡¯t cripple them,¡± shouted Asher from the side, laughing his ass off as he counted the coins. ¡°The Madam only wants us to teach them a lesson.¡± He also looked up, matching Salm¡¯s gaze. ¡°To show them who is the boss of this, her, establishment.¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡± Ceyhan put aside his quarterstaff. It became obvious to him that it was not needed, when Zaber stopped a man¡¯s charge with a knee to the face. And a headbutt after that, for good measure. ¡°Are we good? You hire the funny fellas, and me and my brethren are your cavalry.¡± He flinched at the loud crack of a broken nose. ¡°And you¡¯ll provide hiding when we need it?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± uttered Marghe, unable to avert her eyes. ¡°Sure, we¡¯re golden.¡± She folded her hands and a shiver went through her body. Zaber had just been assaulted with a bottle, but it had switched hands too fast for an untrained eye. It shattered all over the floor and another member of the Red Mob went down.


    With his last goon fallen, Salm could not contain his rage any longer. ¡°No weapons! We agreed to no weapons!¡± He stomped on the ground and looked at his last underling, the shifty one. ¡°Koe! He¡¯s worn out; work him up good,¡± he said and prepared himself by tightening the red cloth around his head. ¡°I want to finish him.¡±


    His right-hand man, Koe, had watched the brawl with his one sharp eye. Only a handful of customers in the parlor room were not blown out of their minds by this performance, and he was one of them. Koe had been calm and collected, watching. What shook him were the words of his friend and leader.


    ¡°What?¡± he looked insulted, but obedient, at Salm. ¡°You think I can¡¯t take him on my own?¡± He stepped over one of his fallen comrades and onto the glass shards, slowly turning his head at Zaber. Until he got slapped. From the dead angle of his dead eye. ¡°What. The. Fu¨C¡± His face turned thunderstruck.


    ¡°Eyes on the prize,¡± said Zaber with the same intense stare he maintained for the whole fight. ¡°You were paying good attention. I¡¯ve been looking forward to you.¡± Asher had been right from the very beginning¡­


    Koe held his face, staring at an unstoppable force that had mowed down every single man thrown at him. Even Herk. He inspected Zaber with his good eye; how his chest pumped and all hair was sticky with sweat. As Salm said, he was worn out. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve watched you,¡± Koe snapped back and shifted into a fighting stance. ¡°I know what to look out for.¡±


    Zaber, not taking a stance himself, swung his right leg in a crescent at Koe¡¯s left side ¨C the blind one. But this one was nimble, a sly one. By a hair¡¯s breadth, he was able to bend backwards and avoid a hit. Only his nose was grazed, and he turned his head with the force.


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t,¡± said Zaber ice cold. He took a low stance, and for just a moment, a smile flashed over his lips.


    The sly one wiped his nose and checked for blood, but none was found. He smirked. ¡°I very well do,¡± he said, adjusting his feet. ¡°You got proper training ¨C grappling, likely in armor. You strike to kill, to survive.¡± Koe¡¯s hands remained open. No fists were formed when he held them out at his enemy, undefeated as he was. ¡°I¡¯ve seen the likes of you in the guards ¨C some fancy son with years of tutoring. Acting all dirty and playing in the gutters with us poorfolk.¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± said Zaber with narrow eyes.


    ¡°Make me.¡±


    Both men struck forward, and their jabs connected, as they were of similar size. Koe had planned for a follow-up punch, the fist in his face staggered him for the length of a one-eyed blink. Shoved away, he assumed the same had happened to his foe. But Zaber pushed through the strike, and Koe felt himself lifted from the ground in a tackle. The sly one¡¯s reflexes made him lash out, and an elbow smashed onto Zaber¡¯s skull.


    Distracted by the pain, Zaber overshot and crashed Koe into a table, making everyone jump off their chairs. A struggle ensued, and the veteran and criminal tried to gain control. Where Koe was trying to grab Zaber¡¯s arms or hands or anything, the greasy and unkempt veteran already had him by the neck. Pushing him down with all his weight. Futile attempts at twisting joints or limbs by his sly opponent did not stop Zaber from pummeling him into the ground. Punch after punch, until Koe¡¯s hands went limp and his face changed colors.


    The voices around Zaber intermingled into one big mess of excitement and the voice behind his eyes. Dreading over loss of coin and a faint hint of Asher yelling at his friend. Sweat dropped onto Koe¡¯s face when a crude kick to the head sent Zaber flying and his surroundings scattered.


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± said Salm, and looked down on Zaber. Asher stood right behind him with glee in his face. He had not stopped the ringleader; instead, he was sorting through the bets. Salm, however, put his foot right next to an exhausted Zaber. ¡°You¡¯ve proven you are better than us. We are scum and you and your fancy arse friend over there got paid into excellency.¡±


    Another kick to the ribs followed, but Zaber had curled up in full defense. Right after the attack was over, he rolled to the side and used the momentum to get onto his knees and feet again. ¡°Shut¨C¡± Zaber wheezed, ¡°your damned mouth.¡± He pushed a thumb on one of his nostrils and snorted a clot of blood onto the floor.


    ¡°I hate the likes of you,¡± continued Salm. ¡°Even more than your smootharse friend over there.¡± He gave Asher the stink eye, cautious of being slapped like Koe. ¡°I look at him and I know he thinks lesser of me. You fucking pretend to look like us. Trying to look real tough, ain¡¯t you?¡±


    While talking, both of them started to circle each other like hungry wolves. Remains of the table, shattered glass, and the stink of alcohol were splattered all around them. The folk were rooting for Salm and Zaber rubbed the scar of his jaw with his scarred backhand.


    Many replies went through Zaber¡¯s head, but none escaped his clenched teeth. All he knew was to push forward, and that he did. Not indulge in the voice. Not let it win. Those times were over¡­


    A punch, deflected, followed by a counter-punch. Barely blocked with his forearms, Zaber had to admit that Salm had been right. The ringleader was running on full energy, while Zaber had defeated thirteen. He was used to fighting in armor, but also to taking hits in armor. Now, everything that landed stayed with him.


    For the first time, Zaber was on retreat, getting pushed back. Up until the snorting sound that Asher lovingly described as Zaber¡¯s signature move. Caught off guard, Salm¡¯s skull hit the wooden floor and he held his face in disbelief. He looked at spit between his fingers, coming from his face. The roles had reversed, and the leader of the Red Mob had to curl up as he was kicked in the ribs. Kicked and kicked and kicked until a loud crack and cry signaled the finishing line.


    ¡°My name is Zaber,¡± slurred the exhausted veteran. His boot sat right next to Salm¡¯s face. But instead of a coup de grace, he turned to the audience. ¡°I have claimed your stupid burned-down temple. Trespassers¨C¡± He looked around the room, wheezing, making every man avert his eyes when they met. It was hard to tell if it was awe or fear, or whatever. ¡°Will end like him.¡± The crowd went silent. ¡°Or him,¡± added Zaber, and looked at the rest of the Red Mob. ¡°Or him. Or him.¡±


    Asher was counting coins and about to join his friend¡¯s side. But even the smooth veteran was taken aback by what happened next. Zaber began to walk through the parlor room, away from Asher. One by one he unbuckled the straps that kept his run-down, brown gambeson together. When it opened up, his neck was revealed first behind the high collar. He threw the padded armor to the side. His arming cap fell too, when he stripped away the old tunic to let his sweaty, hot body breathe.


    He was scarred all over, a testament to almost two decades of soldiering. Stabbed in the torso, slashed at the shoulders, arms and neck. He stood right in front of Ruwer, who had not moved or stood up during the spectacle. A whore sat next to him, looking scared at the sweaty, greasy, unkempt and exhausted looking veteran.


    ¡°You¡¯re next,¡± said Zaber.


    Ruwer looked rather unimpressed and took a sip of his beer, inspecting the challenger. ¡°Son,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t overplay your hand.¡±


    ¡°If I win, you take the damned job,¡± said Zaber, looking grim. ¡°And you¡¯ll apologize to that animal.¡±


    Seeing what his friend had in mind, Asher clapped amused and put away their earnings. With Salm still lying on the ground, he walked back up the stairs to a baffled Marghe and a laughing Ceyhan.


    ¡°I wanna make a wager too,¡± said the Yesilian. ¡°In one week, your friend will be dead.¡±


    ¡°Bet,¡± said Asher, and winked at Ceyhan with a smirk. ¡°But first¡­¡± He held his open hand to Marghe, who¡¯d ignored him. She craned her neck to not lose sight of Zaber and Ruwer. ¡°You owe us coin. Split between three.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± said Marghe and waved her hired muscle to the side. ¡°What the fuck is he doing? Did he fall onto his head?¡±


    ¡°Oh he?¡± Asher pretended to not know for a moment. ¡°He¡¯s doing his thing. Now pay up.¡±

 Chapter 9 - Day Three

    Chapter 9


    Day Three ¨C Noon


    Father Sun had reached his peak, where he reigned supreme. At least, he would have, if not for the clouds that painted the city bleak. It would rain soon and Torm returned to the ruins he called home. Stepping through the door from the vestibule, the boy followed the familiar grunts.


    The temple was ill-equipped to handle the upcoming spring rains. Under normal circumstances, they would either retreat into one of the intact moon towers, or the sacristy that used to lead into the sun tower. The one that used to house the bells with the big dial. But next to the stone altar, front and center to the pile of wooden banks, lay the harbingers of Zaber¡¯s plan. A skull cap so scratched that the metal had become dull, a scuffed chinstrap attached to it. A crossbow with a wide selection of bolts, spaced on old leather paddings for arms and legs. And under the melodic tingling of chains, shapeless maille was added to the pile. Zaber heaved it out of the hatch to the basement and looked at his apprentice.


    ¡°I see,¡± said Torm and smiled at his mentor. He reached to help Zaber get out. ¡°This looks serious. Is your head doing fine?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ¡¯aight.¡± Zaber spread the maille with light kicks and stirred up some rust. ¡°This needs a good cleanse and oil.¡±


    ¡°Have fun?¡± The boy stepped back to glimpse at the old hauberk.


    ¡°A sold¨C¡± Zaber interrupted himself and scratched the scar on his jaw. ¡°Everyone is responsible for their own gear. What sidearm do you want?¡± The greasy and unkempt veteran flicked against the hilt of Torm¡¯s bauernwehr. ¡°No need to stick to a short one anymore.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Torm looked perplexed. His gaze got out of control, inspecting the displayed gear again, peeking down the hatch and looking at his own blade. ¡°Let¡¯s jump down! I wanna pick.¡±


    The mentor was nearly pushed out of the way by his apprentice. Torm forwent the ladder into the cellar of these sacred halls entirely. He just grabbed a hold and swung down. The light wasn¡¯t the best and dust had settled on most of Zaber¡¯s many holdings. The rust that befell the arms wasn¡¯t too severe, nothing a good whetstone couldn¡¯t fix. Youthful Torm was overwhelmed by the idea of picking anything from here. After Zaber had climbed down too, the boy watched him pick up every piece one by one. Inspecting them in silence and scratching his prominent facial scar even more.


    ¡°What¡¯s the plan? Which one are you taking?¡± Torm asked and squeezed himself next to Zaber in that claustrophobic room. It was filled to the brim, stacked with steel. And there was the chest. ¡°Got a less ugly helmet than the thing up there?¡±


    ¡°That was my first proper helmet I got with thirteen. Wore a cap and paddings to fill it up,¡± reminisced Zaber about the past. ¡°You¡¯re getting my old set, it¡¯s reliable.¡± He held a crude blade with one edge, curved ever so slightly. Its pommel was spiked and the hilt had an extra handguard. ¡°How about this?¡±


    Torm took the weapon and weighted it¡¯s blade by balancing it by the crossguard. ¡°Hmhmm. I don¡¯t know,¡± he said and took it into his hand, swinging it as much as the cellar allowed for. ¡°This is too clunky. I am quick-wristed, you know that.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± said Zaber and watched the boy. ¡°This belonged to the same Gal¨¢zian fella I got my darling from.¡± He pulled out the stiletto from his hip and rotated it into an ice-pick grip. ¡°I ain¡¯t ¡®slow-wristed¡¯, ain¡¯t I?¡±


    Stared down by his mentor, Torm swallowed and looked at Zaber¡¯s scarred hand. ¡°No,¡± he gasped. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°He was a grown man and I was sixteen.¡± Zaber¡¯s grip around the hilt tightened as he remembered. ¡°A career soldier, just like me. Good tin around his body, slow and clunky. Met him on a maraud, probably billeted in the village. No nimbleness in the world can get you around armor.¡± The greasy and unkempt veteran moved the tip of his weapon to his neck, under his chin. To the groin and the pits of his arms, elbows and knees. Slow, but threatening. He remembered the voice of that day. ¡°This crude thing will chop, not cut. If it ain¡¯t getting through, it will crush your bones.¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡± Torm swallowed again, harder. ¡°I think I should¨C¡± The words were in his head, but getting them out was hard. ¡°I think I should fight the way I am best at. Like you always say: Good fighting is forcing your way on your foe.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod. ¡°¡¯aight. You are right.¡± He stashed away his most precious possession and pulled out his langes messer. Presented it to Torm, forcing himself to brighten up with a smile. ¡°How about mine? If everything goes as planned, you ain¡¯t using it anyways.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± There was no gap between Torm¡¯s answer and Zaber¡¯s question. ¡°Yes, yes, yes,¡± said the boy over and over again, his voice pitching up with every repetition. ¡°Wait¨C¡± Torm had his hands raised and opened already, to embrace his mentor¡¯s blade. ¡°What do you mean, am I not going to fight? Again?¡±


    ¡°You will, but first you give me the intel,¡± said Zaber and pulled his lange messer away, sheathing it. ¡°We ain¡¯t done yet, I have to visit Asher and you have to get me my horses and write me a letter.¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡± Torm thought how to summarize the information he got. ¡°Prisoners suspected to get capital punishment will be picked up in three days. One after another, and brought to the courthouse. Central will be last,¡± he said and pulled off his felt cap, running his hands through his hair. It helped him focus, to not forget.


    ¡°When¡¯s Westwatch? I wanna keep collaterals low.¡± Zaber rummaged through his collection. He set aside the various polearm heads that lacked poles and smaller pieces of armor and the tools to maintain them. He finally reached what he was looking for. A kriegsmesser, a two handed version of what he already carried. ¡°I¡¯ll take this. Fully tinned, as the left vanguard. Asher will lead the right.¡±


    ¡°Why did you hide this beauty?¡± Torm was enchanted by the kriegsmesser. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be better if you take me with you to see Asher? You have to explain it twice¨C¡± said Torm and stopped.


    ¡°When¡¯s Westwatch?¡± repeated Zaber and searched the weapon for rust and dents.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Torm halted. ¡°Sagir¡¯s not at Westwatch, he was put into Central. They expect us to do something stupid and don¡¯t want to take any risks. They believe you have Airich¡¯s¨C¡± Once again, Torm was not able to finish.


    This time, Zaber did not interrupt him with words, but with a hand in front of his chest. The veteran put aside the kriegsmesser and pushed the boy to the side. To step in front of the chest. But instead of opening it, he pulled it a hand width towards himself and reached behind it. Never had Torm even thought about snooping around like that. There was a slender wooden casket hidden away. Intricate ornaments were engraved on it, the length of a tall child. Zaber wiped off the dust and froze for a moment, trapped in his own gaze, before opening it.


    ¡°Wha¨C¡± said Torm in awe.


    The man he had lived together with for about five years brought forward a longsword in a plain but costly scabbard. No signs of deterioration, with a perfectly weighted hilt. Just three metal crests were on it, signs of noble origin. On top, a white shield with three green hills and a spear, set ablaze. Beneath that, a slain dragon in red, on an artless ground and the coat of arms of the King of Albion. The imperial gryphon, black and double-headed, on a golden ground and divided by a red cross that spread into all cardinal directions.


    ¡°I¨C, I¡¯ve never seen that¡­ either,¡± stuttered Torm. ¡°Is that for Asher? Is¨C¡± The lights behind Torm¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Is this¡­?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the backup plan,¡± said Zaber through his teeth, grinding in pain. ¡°This alone will secure us victory.¡±


    ¡°Is it true¡­?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s move up,¡± said Zaber. ¡°I¡¯ll give you the rundown before I roll out to Asher¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Can I come with?¡± Torm waited for Zaber to go up first. A yearning gaze remained on his face as he looked at all the weapons left behind. ¡°We have three days, Breg and Buron aren¡¯t running away and neither are the stables.¡±


    ¡°No slacking off, we are using those three days.¡± The veteran gave Torm a hand back into the chaotic altar room. ¡°Your choice of blade is secondary to this,¡± said Zaber. ¡°This one¡¯s important.¡± He picked up the crossbow and a loading hook he clasped onto his belt.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°What? Why, I am a good swordsman.¡± Torm looked at the crossbow and felt its string. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t ignore my strengths like this.¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± said Zaber and gave Torm a slap on the back of his head. ¡°Hanifa has promised me experienced soldiers. If you want to be part of this, you follow my orders. We ain¡¯t dueling anyone.¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± said Torm, straightening his hair and putting the cap on again. Slightly tilted. ¡°I get it. This is serious.¡±


    ¡°Dead serious. I want no casualties.¡± Zaber¡¯s stare was as intense as ever and Torm knew what this meant. Never did the mentor take the training of his apprentice lightly and he wouldn¡¯t start today. ¡°You will be in my line. I will take the lead, fully tinned. A pair to protect my flanks and clean up behind me and then comes you. Same for Asher¡¯s line, but with a bow.¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I have a bow? Aren¡¯t they faster?¡±


    ¡°The Sultan¡¯s armies are filled with horses and archers, unlike ours. Many of them have shot their first arrow as children. Your back and arms ain¡¯t fit for this,¡± said Zaber and picked up one of the bolts that were neatly sorted on the ground. ¡°An archer is raised and a crossbowman is trained. And this is what we¡¯re doing these next three days.¡±


    Torm looked at the bolt held in front of his nose. He had neither used nor felt a bow nor crossbow before. Having a brawl in the streets, with some other youths, or sparring with Zaber was different. He knew he could control himself, even if his mentor was still scolding him for going overboard. But this, once fired, would kill. The boy swallowed at the thought and fixed his hair and adjusted his cap once more.


    ¡°You want me to write a letter to Breg and Buron?¡± Torm¡¯s eyes shifted through the room.


    ¡°Affirmative.¡± Zaber nodded. ¡°I need their help in a matter of life or death. We have to leave this place behind. Asher will also come, I am sure.¡± He put the crossbow on the altar and thought about the message. ¡°Make it easy to read for Buron. No fancy or long words,¡± he said. ¡°I understand if they can¡¯t enter, but I would welcome it. I need them to take position and guard the horses and baggage, though. For a smooth scram.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t Buron be a better choice for the crossbow? And Breg could take another flank. Or you rip them apart together.¡± Torm laughed and started to inspect the crossbow.


    ¡°Asher is more than enough and we would still need more backup. Taking more Yesilians with us will¨C¡± Zaber halted to scratch the scar along his jaw, as he had many times today. ¡°It will do us well. We¡¯ll travel south. They need to prepare a boat or two that¡¯s big enough for the animals to cross the waters.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving Albion whole, not only Teblen?¡± Torm¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Isn¡¯t it enough to lay low outside the march for a while?¡±


    ¡°Your dream will come true,¡± said Zaber and forced a smile. ¡°You will see the world¡­ on the run.¡± He picked up the crossbow again.


    ¡°A¨C, Amazing,¡± uttered Torm, fists clenched. ¡°Wait, no.¡± He looked outside the ruined temple. ¡°Can we take Kell with us? I can¡¯t leave him behind.¡±


    Zaber was about to shift his attention back to the crossbow, but¡­ he hesitated. His gaze wandered around the temple, over the old and damaged and overgrown depictions of the Constellations, the Sun and the Moons. He thought about what lay ahead and that he knew his friends would come with him, no matter what. And that Torm deserved the same.


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Tell him to take the bridge to Elandis, into Gal¨¢zion. I¡¯ll pay for the border fee and he can¡¯t be armed.¡± He waited and thought even more. How to adjust the plan for Kell. ¡°Hrm. Buy him a horse. He can guard our landing site.¡±


    The boy¡¯s eyes brightened up. His lips were pinched together, suppressing a squeal. ¡°I swear, he will not be a burden. I¡¯ll teach him how to fight, like you did. I¨C, I promised him,¡± said Torm, barely containing his gratitude. His hands changed from stressed to excited. ¡°He knows his basics and is a hard worker. He¡¯ll be my responsibility, entirely.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± smiled Zaber, delighted by his apprentice. ¡°But he can¡¯t be close before we leave Albion. He¡¯ll mess up.¡±


    ¡°How will he know if we made it? Breg and Buron aren¡¯t waiting on the other side either,¡± noticed Torm, becoming ever so slightly confused. ¡°Is there a sign?¡±


    ¡°Listen, he can¡¯t fight and they can,¡± said Zaber and held up the crossbow bolt again. Right in front of Torm¡¯s eyes, forcing him to focus on it. ¡°If anything goes wrong and we¡¯re pursued ¨C even through my escape route ¨C Breg can snap a guard in half on his own. And Buron can treat a wound and lead the way.¡± The veteran grabbed the crossbow. ¡°Kell will only be in our way. Now, listen.¡±


    ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll tell him. Any¨C¡± Torm went on and did not listen. So he was flicked against the forehead with the crossbow bolt.


    ¡°Next time, I¡¯ll push it into your nose,¡± Zaber¡¯s brows narrowed. ¡°I need you on this one. I¡¯ll do the heavy lifting; you need to be drilled to reload and hit at under thirty feet. Just hit, no sharpshooting.¡± The greasy and unkempt man stepped back, to present himself in full sordid glory. ¡°See this?¡± He pointed at the hook. ¡°You hang the string on it and put your foot on the iron stirrup in front. Push down to cock. This is about 480 pound,¡± explained and showed the veteran.


    ¡°Is that a lot?¡± Torm had jumped up a bit to sit on the altar and watch.


    ¡°I got a stronger one down there, but you would need a goat¡¯s foot for it.¡±


    ¡°A what?¡±


    Zaber sighed at all the questions. Back in his time¡­ he thought. But he didn¡¯t want to drill the boy like that. As long as Torm asked questions, he was engaged and that was good. ¡°A clunky lever. I don¡¯t want you to carry that around, we need to be fast.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± nodded Torm. ¡°Quick-wristed, useless. Quick-ankled, smart.¡±


    ¡°I got about a dozen of these.¡± Zaber went on and pointed at the other bolts on the ground with the one in his hand. ¡°Use the needle bodkins first, they can penetrate armor. If you run out of them, take the barbed ones. Last, these hunting ones, but they are unlikely to penetrate, except for a clean shot at a gap.¡± He made sure to point at all of them in order. ¡°I doubt you¡¯ll let loose more than three or four times.¡±


    After showing the simple act of loading, Zaber pushed the crossbow into the boy¡¯s arms. Torm felt the weight and sampled the bolts and their different tips. He pulls it up and down, again and again. Presses it into his shoulder to get a good feel on it.


    ¡°You ain¡¯t wasting them yet,¡± said Zaber and held his hand in front of Torm and the crossbow. ¡°Can¡¯t afford them to splinter. You¡¯ll use the useless ones, like the moon shaped.¡± The mentor gave Torm said bolt. ¡°They¡¯re for rope cutting¨C¡±


    ¡°Like in The Hanging Forest Hoodlums?¡± Torm snapped his fingers, as if it was a brilliant remark. ¡°Or¨C¡±


    ¡°By the Dragon and the Kraken, I will get that book and smack you so hard with it¡­¡± Zaber pulled off his arming cap and whipped Torm¡¯s arm. ¡°They are used for trebuchets and¨C¡±


    ¡°As if you would recognize the book from the pile,¡± smirked Torm and got whipped again, at the back of his head, sweeping the felt cap off.


    ¡°Reloading is more important than precision. If needed you¡¯ll put in some sticks for practice,¡± said Zaber and fiddled off the hook from his belt. ¡°Once we¡¯re back, the drill begins. In just a couple of days, you ain¡¯t gonna be like a Flectian, but you¡¯ll do good.¡± Zaber puts on his arming cap and scratches the scar at his jaw again. ¡°Write the letter and get us horses.¡±


    Torm took out the bolt and pulled the trigger of the crossbow. A loud ¡®snap¡¯ sounded through the sacred halls, once constructed for acoustics. ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t need me at your flank? At your side?¡±


    ¡°No, this is the position I need you at,¡± said Zaber and began to walk out. ¡°I know you can do the job, but the Yesilians are used to fighting in formation. I will get them paddings and spears, from Asher, and they will finish off the fellas I fell.¡±


    Gloom beset Torm¡¯s face and he sighed. ¡°And you never taught me any polearms.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight, I¡¯m heading out,¡± said Zaber. ¡°When we¡¯re back, you¡¯ll put on the armor too. We drilling under battle conditions. Can¡¯t do that with the Yesilians, they gotta lay low.¡± He turns around and looks at Torm, intensely. Zaber gave his apprentice a curt nod and forced a smile. ¡°You got this. Discipline is key and you are a quick learner. Way quicker than I was.¡±


    Torm looked at his mentor and grinned like a fool. He knew this was the carrot before the stick, but it was always nice to get a compliment. They were rare enough. Correcting the tilt of his felt cap, the boy saluted Zaber. With the incorrect hand and the fingers standing out all wrong.


    ¡°Fuck you, I gotta go,¡± said Zaber and chuckled at the provocation. ¡°Write the damned letter first and bring it to the inn in Rygen.¡±

 Chapter 10 - Day Three

    Chapter 10


    Day Three ¨C Afternoon


    The great gothic cathedral of St. Leodor towered over its namesake quarter from afar. It was the biggest and second oldest temple in Teblen and the white belfry with the sundials on it was nigh impossible to miss. Named after an ancestor to Margrave Greodor of unknown accomplishments. The city had two main roads going in and out; the King¡¯s Road and the Margrave¡¯s Road. Zaber chose the former to make his way to Asher. It was the northern one and the worn out veteran had picked it over his usual habit of walking through Sonora¡¯s Market. He hated to attract eyes, but if he had to, it might well be that of pompous patricians, irked by a disheveled figure passing their shops and stands. Unfortunately, the circumstances had been different and all attention had needed to be avoided. So he walked north through Kreitz and entered St. Leodor.


    Half the guild¡¯s kontors were located here. The big Guild Hall, though, stood right next to the Town Hall in the quarter of Old Teblen, the heart of the city. St. Leodor was built by the guilds as well, to please their overlords and solidify their sainthood. Before the Gryphen had unified Albion under their banner 416 years ago.


    Commonfolk dreamed of being employed here, far away from the burden of physical labor. The high men and women here wore fine garments and their wrists and necks and fingers were hung with precious metal and gems. Zaber felt watched by them. Judged. But in truth, only those who got paid to keep an eye on the likes of him were paying any attention. For every guard, there were two members of the Sellsword Guild under hire. Nothing but the best for these fine citizens.


    The tall houses here were made from cutstone and many had colorful plaster and artistic stucco on them. Most depicted the Constellations, Father Sun, his Moon Daughters or Noble Saints. Muck and filth could not be found in these streets and neither were Yesilians. If a guildsman owned one, they worked behind closed doors or at Sonora¡¯s Market.


    Enduring the presence of all this opulence, pomp, hoit and toit, was tiring. Zaber was tensed up, even more so than usual. For the first time in four years, something real was on the line and the greasy and unkempt man hated it. Not being in control, and even worse so; being at fault for it. For four years, he only stumbled into other folk¡¯s problems. Cleaned them up, or aggravated them, or whatever Zaber felt like doing. What his heart would tell him to do¡­ or when to give in to the voice. But now Sagir was suffering for it. Ceyhan¡¯s brother. His friend. Someone who could very well be here, because of Zaber.


    The veteran felt liberated when he finally reached Asher¡¯s place. He turned into a placid alley under a well-crafted stone archway, away from the eyes and mumbles, away from the armed men and dark corners. The passage led into a courtyard where a young apple tree sprang through the pavement. It was still considering when the right moment to blossom was, after this long and cold winter. A sheltered well was shared by three residents, each with their own stairway leading to separate doors. Zaber knocked three times¡­ and a fourth time after waiting for a breath. A sign Asher insisted on.


    Silence, followed by another attempt. But louder.


    More silence.


    Zaber held his hand up for a third attempt, but resisted the urge. Either Asher had heard him or wasn¡¯t there, nothing he could do about. At least he was concealed from the public in this backyard. Asher assured that he and his two neighbors had a discrete agreement to keep out of each other¡¯s business. So Zaber sat down and leaned back on the highest step, sideways against the railing. He folded his arms in front of his torso and closed his eyes. For just a moment. Get some rest while he can. In peace¡­ The night had been short, even shorter than normal. His hands laid down, close to his belt and steel.


    The days had become warmer and Zaber heard some sparrows close-by. The season was perfect to leave Teblen behind and begin anew. All four of them reunited, like before, living in the wilds. Together with Torm, and a common goal¡­


    One could never know how long a nap like that would be. But whenever there was an irritating sound, a voice from the streets, or something resembling steps, Zaber¡¯s eyelids jumped up. One of Asher¡¯s neighbors, a woman with flaming red hair, left her home. She wore pantaloons and a doublet and had a knuckle-guarded, single-edged blade. Zaber had never spoken to her, but had heard her speak in an eastern mountain accent. She wasn¡¯t from the heartlands of Albion, unified through a common tongue. They nodded at each other and went on to mind themselves.


    The strokes of St. Leodor told Zaber exactly how long he had been waiting, even with the moments he had fallen asleep. A full candle before Asher walked through the archway with his two goons in tow, Bern¨¦ and ¨¨neci. The former was as dense as he was big, in a way you wouldn¡¯t mess with. Bald on top and hairy down the neck, wrapped in simple tunics and shoes. The latter wasn¡¯t much less dense, but skinny and bony in a concerning way. Not like a starving man, but someone who had a benevolent pharmacist. He wore very colorful clothes and both of them were unarmed.


    ¡°You two wait here,¡± said Asher when his eyes met those of Zaber. ¡°Or better, take the day off. Hadorn can wait.¡±


    Zaber stood up and rubbed his eyes and nose. Upping his pace, Asher fiddled out a heavy key from his sleeve and his old friend waited for him to unlock the door.


    ¡°You need to talk?¡± Asher made sure that his employees were gone before saying anything.


    ¡°We need to talk,¡± said Zaber and pushed the door open after the ¡®clack¡¯.


    They stepped inside the spacious house the greasy and unkempt man had visited many times before. For drinking and briefings on whatever Asher was scheming and requesting help for. The small foyer had well crafted furniture, with an open space at the center. If needed, it could be moved quickly as an additional barricade for the door. The windows had plenty curtains and were already barred, with a sense for art. A rack and cabinet to place one¡¯s belongings in stood next to the door, but neither Asher nor Zaber used it. The sky had still been gray and rain had a long time to come. Damp natural light made the tin lamps at the walls unneeded.


    ¡°This is only the second time you¡¯ve come to me and not the other way around. What¡¯s this about?¡± Asher removed his thin leather gloves, finger by finger. He unbuckled his sword and dagger, but kept them in hand. ¡°Anything I can get you?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Zaber and stretched his arms, taking a more relaxed stance. ¡°I got visitors yesterday. Twice.¡± His voice darkened.


    The smooth veteran stroked his goatee and looked at the injury on Zaber¡¯s forehead. He knew his friend for fourteen years. They had lived together, laughed together, fought together. Side by side, in formation, as well as on marauds behind enemy lines. Asher knew Zaber in and out, he believed. ¡°Spit it out, who are we going to murder? Morells?¡±


    The duo walked through one of two doors, next to a staircase, into the next room. A cozy one with leather armchairs, and a small table right in front of a fireplace. The room was filled to the brim with weapons, hung at the wall for display and on cupboards. An armor stand with polished tin, well maintained, completed the room. Zaber hadn¡¯t answered yet. Instead, he inspected the steel. Looking at his muddied reflection in the chestplate.


    ¡°The boy I pay should have filled my cellar. Can I bring you something?¡± Asher laid a hand on Zaber¡¯s shoulder, inviting. ¡°Anything?¡± His brows went up.


    ¡°No,¡± said Zaber promptly. ¡°¡¯aight, maybe¡­¡± He scratched the scar along his jaw and looked away from the armor. ¡°What¡¯s the strongest shit you¡¯ve got?¡±


    Asher smirked. ¡°I¡¯ve got something better than strong,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve got something good. Sit down, it won¡¯t take too long.¡±


    As his slick friend left the room, the worn-out veteran did not move at all. His eyes got lost in an armet helmet. None of the armament here was of their time back under Airich. All of it was of high quality, but had the distinct note of the locals. Somewhat of a mix between the Upper Albinian style and Western Gal¨¢zian, with the river and lake being a natural border between the two kingdoms. Yet, everything here was ready.


    It didn¡¯t take too long before Asher was back and found his friend still standing. ¡°I said: Sit. Your arse. Down,¡± repeated the man with the slicked back hair. The beret and the slim, clean doublet he wore were of the same red as the bottle of wine he had brought. Asher pulled off the headpiece and opened the top lacings to free up his chest. As Zaber shook his head and sat down, his old comrade in arms poured the wine into two rummers. As the room was filled with the scent of hospitality, Asher looked at his disheveled guest. ¡°What are you waiting for?¡±


    Zaber smelled the liquid before drinking. It was no different from any other wine he had tried. ¡°First¨C¡± he said and looked at Asher sitting at the other side of the table. ¡°First, these damned knights of the Margrave show up, two, pestering me and the boy.¡± The glass was already half-empty after another tasting. ¡°Fucked me up with their damned magic.¡± He pointed at the laceration on his forehead, which was all clotted up. He sounded cheated, not defeated.


    ¡°What?¡± Asher asked in disbelief and put down his rummer, equally half-empty. Neither of them spent any time on fancy slurps or swivels. No matter how much Asher tried, he couldn¡¯t fool his friend, though.


    ¡°Ranted about showing me my place,¡± said Zaber with a disgruntled face. ¡°Remember when the Baronet visited for the same kinda horseshit?¡± He didn¡¯t even wait for a reply. ¡°Like that, but more stupid and entitled.¡±


    ¡°Fella was a huge coward, wasn¡¯t he?¡± Asher opened up more of his doublet and immaculately rolled up his sleeves. ¡°Why were they fighting you? Shouldn¡¯t they¡¯ve shit their breeches too?¡±


    The worn-out veteran straightened up; the soft backrest wasted on his posture. Zaber tensed up again, rubbing his hands over one scar and scratching his jaw afterward. ¡°Torm and I had no damned idea what was going on. Hadn¡¯t contact with fancy verses since Airich died.¡± Zaber¡¯s eyes were losing themselves in the unlit fireplace. ¡°That captain really wanted to go at it. Said he heard rumors¡­ Watch probably briefed him.¡±


    ¡°Slow down,¡± said Asher and leaned back, holding onto his rummer. He thought visibly hard. ¡°Aren¡¯t you off-limits for the Watch? Do we have to lay low?¡± A scar along his whole elbow was revealed, as well as an arrow wound right beneath his neck.


    ¡°The fuck I know.¡± Zaber clenched his fist, angry about himself and the lack of answers. ¡°Came out of nowhere, we thought. But we ain¡¯t right; they¡¯re provoking us.¡± He searched for calm at the bottom of the wine glass and refilled it.


    ¡°You. They are not after me or Torm,¡± said Asher, calming down. ¡°This has to be about you and Airich.¡±


    ¡°Got another visit.¡± Zaber took off his arming cap as well and pulled open the high collar of his gambeson. The wine was working. ¡°Yesilians next, Hanifa.¡± He looked at his friend and saw the word ¡®who¡¯ written all over his face. ¡°You know, Ceyhan¡¯s girl.¡±


    Asher¡¯s face and voice also darkened. ¡°What happened to Sagir?¡± Ever since they left the regiment, Asher had not heard his oldest friend be this concerned. He had feared the day that Airich would catch up to them, whatever this was really about.


    ¡°I messed up,¡± squeezed Zaber out. Grinding his teeth and coming close to breaking the glass in his palm. He punched the cushy leather. ¡°Torm and I handled the guards after you left. Broke one of them skulls with Dalke¡¯s broom.¡±


    ¡°How¡­¡± Asher was in cold shock. No grimace, no exaggerated impression, only doubt. ¡°How¨C¡± He couldn¡¯t go on.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t notice¡­ just left.¡±


    ¡°By every Star, how could that happen? Did the shitbrat¨C¡±


    ¡°No, I messed up,¡± repeated Zaber. ¡°Damned if I know why. Didn¡¯t sleep much that day.¡± He rubbed his eyes and nose once more. ¡°Haven¡¯t slept much in days¡­ It¡¯s like Brenz is holding me at the neck. And I can¡¯t stand their horseshit anymore.¡±


    Asher¡¯s hands rubbed the leather of the armrests before drinking directly from the bottle. ¡°So, Sagir¡¯s dead,¡± he said and went on. Ignoring his still filled glass. ¡°What do you need from me? Are we taking revenge, or do I have to find out who to take revenge on first?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s alive,¡± murmured Zaber, lost in thought. His voice rose up again after he shook his head. ¡°He¡¯ll be brought to court in three days. Margrave gotta fulfill the quota for the arcanium mines. It¡¯s a death batch.¡±


    The smooth veteran put the bottle back on the table and stared at his friend. His face became grimmer as he recognized the Zaber he knew. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me¨C¡±


    ¡°I will fix this.¡± Zaber stood up, fists clenched, tall and imposing. ¡°Sagir is our friend. Ceyhan was our friend. Torm is getting a message to Breg and Buron as we speak.¡± His gaze was fixated on Asher, the same way he looked at those he was about to punch. Not at his friend, but deep inside of him. ¡°Let¡¯s do this¡­ like we used to.¡±


    A long moment went by and their expressions didn¡¯t change. Asher fell silent again, musing, and Zaber reveled in his friend¡¯s calm. Unlike the olden days, the slick one had been taking the initiative ever since they¡¯ve left soldiering behind. It had been frustrating, but Asher could count on any of his friends when needed. Ever since Airich¡¯s death, his friend had focused on nothing but the boy. For Asher, seeing the life return to Zaber filled him with joy. Gone shall be the days of reaction. The way Zaber had battered himself through the underworld of Westwatch were all set up by Asher. To let his mate¡¯s primitive but strong urges do his thing. A life honed for violence¡­ The two slowly formed a smile.


    ¡°The moment I met you, I knew you would be my end,¡± said Asher. ¡°I owe you my life, and I am aware that I can¡¯t stop you from saving another friend.¡± He nodded and stood up, grabbing Zaber¡¯s hand.


    ¡°¡¯aight.¡± Zaber leaned into it and pulled him into a hug. ¡°First, I need a map,¡± he said. ¡°Torm found out that Sagir is at Central, not Westwatch. They got their pants filled up at me breaking in and ripping them apart. Central will be last, exact time unknown, but they start scooping jails after dawn. I expect this to take about three candles¡­¡±


    Asher walked over to one of the cabinets and opened a drawer. Their locks and handles were heavy with handcrafted patterns. ¡°So, ambush it is?¡± He asked and pulled out a map and unrolled it, with Zaber moving next to his friend. ¡°On the old streets to Town Hall?¡±


    Zaber moved his finger to said location and nodded. ¡°Far enough away to avoid quick reinforcements; close enough to minimize patrols.¡±


    ¡°Standard procedure, nothing fancy needed for a bunch of guards who never had a real fight,¡± said Asher snidely. ¡°Are you sure Breg and Buron will join? Entering the city for a fella they¡¯ve never met? You, me, the shitbrat and them will cut through an escort like nothing. But without the two, I don¡¯t see it.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll help me, just like you,¡± said Zaber, and took the map. He laid out the paper and used the rummers to hinder it from curling up. And took another sip. ¡°If they don¡¯t wanna spend the night here, I ain¡¯t forcing them. I met with a sort of council. Five Yesilians will be at our side, all of fighting background. Two fully trained Yaya, a merc¡¯ like us and a highwaywoman.¡± He stopped and pondered over the next words. ¡°And¡­ some sort of royal guard.¡± The greasy and unkempt man wasn¡¯t sure what Kovada was, but he had a guess. Something that would help him later. Make sure to have a backup plan for the backup plan. ¡°You will head the right flank; I will take the left. We¡¯re the only men-at-arms; each of us gets two light spearmen to clean up and look after us. Torm gets my light crossbow; a seasoned Yesilian needs a bow from you. I expect the escort to have a crossbowman on top of the cage; we need to pressure¨C¡±


    ¡°Hoh, slow down again, general.¡± Asher interrupted his friend by putting his hand on the map. ¡°First, this one is outdated. I have an up-to-date one in my study, upstairs. Second, how do you expect us to rescue a slave with a bunch of other slaves roped along?¡± The pair looked right at each other. Some of the amazement about Zaber getting his groove back had faded. ¡°We can hide Sagir, but six blackheads total? We can¡¯t retreat like that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the best part. We ain¡¯t retreating,¡± said Zaber, smirking with uncanny familiarity at Asher. ¡°We occupy two houses in the street, opposite to each other. You¡¯ll scout them, something quiet to not cause a ruckus. Yesilians can help you with that, some work there.¡± He waited to get confirmation that his friend followed.


    ¡°I¡¯m listening, go on.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll use your Gal¨¢zian contacts, and we¡¯ll make it to the other side of the border. Slip through the sewers, half-way through the city. Breg and Buron will await us outside, as reinforcements.¡± Zaber pointed at possible gutters to use as entrances to the sewage system of Teblen and where to get out. ¡°They will send their forces to the bridges or drainage into the river. But we will come out of your smuggling pipe to the north. Have baldy and the bear ready the horses and boats. To leave Albion all together.¡±


    Asher¡¯s eyes have widened, again, with every word said. He stood there in silence, reminiscing over the plan. It just sounded too good. Too solid. Too insane. The slick veteran hated how much he liked the insanity his friend was speaking.


    ¡°All right. What then? Live in Elandis or another city? Torm speaks a bit of the western tongue, and I even less,¡± he said. ¡°Hello, we and our six slaves would love to live in your kingdom. By the way, we used to kill folks like you when we served under Airich, who defeated your old crown prince and disgraced him.¡± Asher¡¯s voice was amused, mocking the western Gal¨¢zian dialect. He gesticulated wildly and flamboyantly. ¡°Airich¡¯s name will be worthless over there. You will get yourself killed in no time or have to find real employ. Finding someone who values your particular brand of bummery. All the Yesilians will get sold again and Breg and Buron will have to retreat even deeper into¨C¡±


    ¡°No! No, you ain¡¯t getting it,¡± interrupted Zaber, grabbing Asher¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We ain¡¯t staying. We¡¯ll march south to the Irisian Sea, charter a ship and sail east¡­¡±


    ¡°Are you¨C¡± Asher saw the spark in Zaber¡¯s eyes and tried to make sense of it.


    ¡°We¡¯ll bring them home.¡±


    ¡°And then? What?¡± The smooth veteran grabbed Zaber by the head and shook him. ¡°Every answer you give only makes me question you further. Cut to the point, Zaber!¡± Asher sounded annoyed, overwhelmed, and excited. He hated and loved it. ¡°They¡¯ll enslave us, as we do with them. You know that, we¡¯ve been there.¡±


    Zaber stepped away and looked at the steel on the walls. He smiled, content with himself. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out. There is no difference from deep marauding. We¡¯ve been through worse.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± said Asher. ¡°We had an army to back us. A lot more manpower. A place to return to.¡± He rubbed his eyes at the nose and ran his hand through his hair, ruining the slick style. At the end, Asher sighed. ¡°All right, three days is plenty time. We¡¯ll discuss the details after I¡¯ve spoken to my contacts.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll also need arcanium.¡± Zaber turned around and looked dead serious again. ¡°Any color will do.¡±


    ¡°You are fucking with me, are you?¡± Asher clenched a fist and raised it. He stepped in front of his friend and knocked him on the chest. Not to hurt, but thrill had overtaken him. ¡°Is this the day?¡±


    The answer was silence: long-lasting, awkward, and, at some point, painful. Asher grabbed the bottle of wine and poured it directly into his throat. He fell down into the armchair, the leather creaking under his fingernails. Another chug. He pointed the bottle at Zaber.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t helping you if you don¡¯t come clean,¡± he said. ¡°If there is any magic trick you can pull to make this work, this is the time to tell your best friend about it.¡±


    Zaber tensed up and fell into an even deeper silence. With a swift motion, the wine changed hands and the greasy and unkempt man emptied it. He touched the cold steel of a walled blade. ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing.¡± A liberating exhale followed. ¡°All those eyes the officers gave me, all the mistrust¡­ for nothing. Only got worse when Airich began to wither away.¡± Zaber scratched the scar along his jaw and put the bottle next to the exhibited weapons. The scar had been through a lot that day, and if it wasn¡¯t hidden under stubble¡­ He turned around. A bashful smile, something Asher hadn¡¯t seen in over a decade. ¡°Something stood in the old man¡¯s will, but I be damned, I¡¯ve never even seen the thing.¡±


    After four years of playing along with the charade, all he could muster for his friend was a face filled with honesty. Never had Zaber told anybody the truth, not the boy, nor his brothers in arms. Plausible deniability for when he eventually had to face the consequences. It was the one insurance the former soldier had, reinforced by which of Airich¡¯s belongings he actually possessed. But this was the limit. There was no keeping it to himself any longer.


    ¡°You are like him, really,¡± said Asher, bursting into laughter. The wine had gotten the better of both of them because it wasn¡¯t just good; it had also been strong. ¡°You got all this coin and his damned sword, just to tell me that it wasn¡¯t from his starforsaken will?¡±


    ¡°Fuck you.¡± Zaber¡¯s face darkened when he was compared to Airich. ¡°I only took what belonged to me. He hated his damned brother and nephews. No-good wimps, not a hard day in their life. Not an ember of fight in them¨C¡± He repeated Airich¡¯s own words, well-known to Asher. All of them knew what he thought about the doves. Zaber¡¯s teeth ground so hard against each other that he might broke one. ¡°I took what he owed me. For eighteen years of¨C¡± Filled with anger, he walked over to the other armchair and fell into it. Punching the sides as he hit the seat.


    ¡°No, fuck him,¡± said Asher before Zaber could go on. ¡°You also took his horse and you were damned right.¡± He smiled and picked up the rummer, still half-filled.


    ¡°Man, I loved that horse,¡± nodded Zaber towards himself and began to relax. He forced a smile back at Asher. ¡°Can you get me Arcanium or not?¡±


    ¡°What for, if you can¡¯t use it? What does it even do, strengthen it or contain a spell?¡±


    ¡°Both. Spells are engraved; can¡¯t be changed,¡± explained Zaber, grabbing his glass with both hands and looking into the remnants. ¡°I picked up some of it, just by being with him. He didn¡¯t care to hide anything, though never taught me. But¨C¡± He straightened his posture and looked straight at Asher, determined. ¡°I think I can do it. Never tried, but it all came back to me with that damned captain. I remember the one in the sword and one more. And if I fail, it will still give us an element of surprise.¡±


    ¡°As far as I know, everyone is convinced you do. Not just that, but that you also know the ones Airich composed.¡± Asher¡¯s words began to slur a bit. ¡°It will scare the codpieces off those bastards. So¡­¡± He raised his rummer across the table. ¡°To that old son of a noble whore. He got you four fat years.¡±


    ¡°May he watch us from the Kraken, as we make fools of his hated peers.¡± Zaber chinked glasses with his friend. ¡°Prost!¡±


    ¡°Prost!¡± Asher smiled.


    ¡°To the Dragon!¡± they spoke in unison.

 Chapter 11 - Day Five

    Chapter 11


    Day Five ¨C Daylight


    It was wet and the air smelled mucid. The stone floor and walls were cold and unforgiving. Sagir sat in the pale light of the oubliette they threw him into, a rill of dried blood running down his swollen eye. He could only hope that his friends were preparing diligently. That Hanifa and Kovada wouldn¡¯t accept it any other way. The captive outlander hadn¡¯t seen the bright face of the young Maiden Sun in three days. Nor was he able to pray to the Moon Elders for wisdom. They had taken his shoes, and his neck, ankles and wrists were bruised from the short chain that was anchored to the ceiling.


    Sagir had never been to a place like this ¨C not just a jail, but the watch above it. Dragged through all of Teblen, to be seen by everyone, crying for his Nene. And they spat on him. He and his Nene¡¯s lives were worth thirty gulden. Given to the young master ¨C to compensate for the loss of labor. His eyes were dried up, just like his mouth. A day of grief and dehydration left him too weak for sorrow. All he could do was wait.


    Heavy footsteps trudged above him and the two other inmates. ¡°This way,¡± said the raspy voice of the warden. An old and hunched guardsman, well served. ¡°Down here are the murderers and rapists. Real scum of the earth, beware.¡±


    The three unfortunate souls wasting away here were blinded by the light from the trapdoor in the ceiling. Was it time to get spilled with a bucket of water and get rock-hard bread? By the Stars, Sagir had already lost his sense of time. The young man had barely spoken to his fellow prisoners for fear of violence. He spoke fluent Albinian, for the most, but his head was jumbled up and even a tiny slip could provoke a beyaz?.


    ¡°You may withdraw,¡± ordered a far reaching, dramatic bass. ¡°My Captain has no further needs.¡±


    This hole in the ground was the height of two small men, and the cross-barred entrance had extra wood on top of it. The chains the inmates were bonded with were not long enough to even reach that far. A ladder was lowered down the oubliette and a tall man in a fine arming doublet descended. Immersed in bright light, his hair was perfectly trimmed and combed. He was followed by a man nearly a head smaller, with a red-brown beard and neatly smeared hair. Sturdy, he wore a thick surcoat-like gambeson. Both were armed.


    It reeked of excrement and human misery. Remnants of what were thrown down here were still splattered around the floor. The bearded man looked at each criminal, searching. ¡°You two keep quiet,¡± boomed the bass, enhanced by the architecture. ¡°Or else.¡± The two inmates averted their gaze and turned their entire heads. Everything to not get punished.


    ¡°Make him sit straight,¡± said a clean baritone. He still stood in the light from above, showing off his tall figure. And a bright, perfect set of teeth.


    ¡°Not kneel?¡± The other man approached Sagir¡¯s anemic body and looked down on him. It was hard to make out facial expressions with the light shining onto his back. The bass was monotone too, making it hard to read the bearded man¡¯s mood.


    ¡°Why?¡± The cavalier baritone scoffed. ¡°I don¡¯t require a gesture of servility from this animal. That¡¯s what I have dogs for.¡±


    Sagir lacked the strength to put up a fight against the harsh hands of the bearded man. His body was forced upright, whether he wanted it or not, against the wall behind him. But even without any struggle, a punch to the captive¡¯s ribs slipped in.


    ¡°Pay attention,¡± said the bass after Sagir coughed his soul out. ¡°The Captain will not repeat himself for the likes of you.¡± He retreated behind his presumed superior.


    ¡°Wh¨C¡± It was hard to speak for Sagir. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I do not tell my name to the dead,¡± said the tall man in the spotlight. He locked his arms behind his back and straightened out, chin slightly raised. ¡°The three of you will be hauled into court on the morrow. Your sentence, I assure you, will be hard labor in His Royal Majesty¡¯s personal mines.¡±


    The silence that answered the proclamation was unsettling. Nothing but mortified breaths of men who already knew their fate. Until¡­


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do it¡­¡± whispered Sagir. ¡°I¨C¡±


    The bearded man lunged forward and smacked Sagir with his backhand. So hard that the helpless prisoner¡¯s body was thrown to the side, and he bit the inside of his mouth. ¡°Were you asked a question?!¡± The dramatic bass was ubiquitous throughout the oubliette and threateningly melodic. ¡°You speak when asked. Not before.¡± Sagir felt the leather of a pair of riding boots next to his chin, lifting it up an inch. ¡°Sit up,¡± said the brute and gave the foreigner a light kick, making him bite his tongue. ¡°Or I¡¯ll do it for you.¡±


    Just as Sagir regained his vigor and got up, a flash of pearly whites smiled at him. ¡°Repeat.¡±


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    ¡°I¨C¡± Sagir did as ordered, but the fear of stepping into a trap struck him down. He hesitated¡­ ¡°I damned didn¡¯t do it.¡± And he was right, as the bearded man raised his hand.


    ¡°Let him speak,¡± said the Captain and his underling stopped, grunting.


    ¡°I have witnesses,¡± continued Sagir. ¡°Freemen. Three.¡± He flinched at every movement from the man in front of him. ¡°Never have I raised a hand against anybody. Ever.¡± The young man¡¯s voice was nearly cracking and rose to an ever higher pitch.


    ¡°Your kind are such miserable creatures. Never, you say?¡± The cavalier baritone lowered his voice and face, casting menacing shades over his eyes. ¡°You did not threaten to kill the sergeant of Westwatch?¡±


    ¡°My Nene was¨C¡± Sagir wished he was still able to cry. Even more so than for water. But he couldn¡¯t even finish. He had lowered his face in grief, but the bearded man had grabbed Sagir at the neck and made sure that he would keep eye contact.


    ¡°Do I look like I care?¡± The Captain stepped forward. ¡°Your hair is that of tar and your skin is that of dirt. Nobody will believe you and your three freemen are worthless.¡± His brutish companion retreated into the background, and a pair of shining boots stepped in his stead. ¡°A husk of a man, his delusional appendage and a career criminal can vouch as much as they want for you. It doesn¡¯t matter for a heathen like you, who can¡¯t even worship the Stars properly. You were raised a barbarian and the judge knows it.¡±


    ¡°I was a child when I came here,¡± wept Sagir. ¡°I don¡¯t even remember¨C¡±


    The tall man grabbed Sagir¡¯s chin and made him freeze. Knelt down, the Captain¡¯s gray-blue eyes radiated directly at the captive. They invaded Sagir¡¯s inmost being and he became like a deer in front of it¡¯s predator.


    ¡°You, with a mind riddled by savagery, haven¡¯t even realized the peculiar position you¡¯re in,¡± he said. ¡°I offer an opportunity of a lifetime. Cooperate and you will go free, be it in years. You will live, be it without your hands. You will see your kind again, be it without your pride.¡±


    ¡°What¡­¡± Sagir breathed the word, confused. ¡°Sir, I don¡¯t know¨C¡±


    ¡°The Justiciar of Teblen has received orders from the Margrave and Baronet to comply,¡± said the Captain. ¡°The only thing you have to do is demand a trial by combat.¡±


    ¡°I¨C, I don¡¯t have the right¨C¡±


    ¡°Shhh.¡± The man holding Sagir¡¯s chin slipped his thumb up and pressed it on the prisoner¡¯s lips. He pressed down so hard that the young man¡¯s teeth and flesh hurt. ¡°Do it anyway. And declare this Zaber to be your champion, for everyone to hear.¡± The Captain pulled back his hand and gave Sagir a pat on his previously hurt cheek.


    ¡°What is this about?¡± Sagir dared too ask. He tried to raise his hands but, unbeknownst to him, the man in front had grabbed the chains. Connecting his limbs and neck together at an iron ring in the middle, going upwards to the roof. The Captain pulled it down, hard.


    The tall man¡¯s expression was unchanged and his smile made Sagir¡¯s heart skip several beats. Even thinking about doing anything to defend himself, or against the Captain, made the young man¡¯s eyes shift to the looming threat standing far behind his superior. If Sagir was facing a predator in front of him, the bearded man behind him was his fangs, ready to pounce.


    ¡°I do not answer your kind,¡± said the Captain. ¡°Serve me in the murder of this man. For everyone to see. Force him out of his little pig pen.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s so speci¨C¡± The chains were yanked again, forcing Sagir lower and lower. His neck began to hurt.


    ¡°His life is miserable and you know that,¡± said the Captain and for the first time, his voice changed, spiteful. ¡°He is a stain on a great man¡¯s reputation, second only to the High King himself. Once and for all, this agony will be ended. And it will be I who does it. And you will help me.¡± He let go of the chain and rose back to full height, looking down. ¡°If he even has the guts to come for the likes of you. That low cunning peasant son has only befriended your kind for your savage language anyways.¡±


    The baritone turned around on his heel as Sagir¡¯s head regained color. A gesture followed, at the bearded bass to get up the ladder and so they ascended. While Sagir was gasping for air, the trapdoor was shut close again and the inmates were left in darkness. Oppressive silence spread through the oubliette as they waited for the muffled voices from above to fade. It was cold and wet and reeked, yet they were finally out of danger. Sagir was out of danger.


    ¡°Damned, I knew it,¡± said one of the other prisoners. ¡°Your accent should have given it away. Fucking murker.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll be the death of us,¡± said the other one. ¡°Rat that bum out, he ain¡¯t no good.¡± His words were sizzled between his teeth, from a broken jaw. ¡°I would kill for what you have.¡±


    Sagir tried to curl up, but the chains didn¡¯t let him. He pinched his eyes and a lone tear was, finally, able to escape. He missed his Nene. And his brother. What to do and what not¡­ was beyond him. Damned beyaz?, damn them all. Even the ones he liked. Zaber would damned sure come if he went through with that arsehole¡¯s plan. But Sagir also knew that Zaber refused to play by other folk¡¯s rules. So¡­


    ¡°Shut up,¡± said Sagir. ¡°We are not the same.¡±

 Chapter 12 - Day Five

    Chapter 12


    Day Five ¨C Midnight


    The ruins of St. Heinmuth have been left empty. Not yet have the residents of Westwatch realized that their wish has come true and the curse has been lifted. Deep at night, watched through the city¡¯s smog, Bear and the Moon Twins stood witness. The old temple has become uninhabited again.


    Not much had changed in the lecture room. Broken benches and garbage were still abundant, along with an empty cask with nothing to drink in and a fireplace without warmth. Planks leaned onto a wall, the figure of a watchman drawn on it with charcoal. Notches and dents all over it and a single, broken crossbow bolt sticking out of the caricature¡¯s eye. A good omen.


    All armor was moved out the cellar and the hatch stood wide open. Blunt and rusted weapons stayed behind, relics to the men that once occupied these halls. A prominent dustmark was left behind by the chest, along with empty barrels and crates for the rats to dwell on.


    Everything had been removed from the sacristy but a few straws. The only evidence that Zaber had been here. Not that there was much in it before.


    The top of the Sun Tower, the belfry that once adorned the sundial, had been Torm¡¯s domicile. A space just for him and his books, of which many had to be abandoned. Only those he held dearest were allowed to come with them, as well as his most practical clothing. It was the first time something had been his own and no one else¡¯s. The first home he knew that felt right. And he had left a mark in the decrepit wall, reading ¡®Remember Torhelm, son of Dornhal and Rohanna Gudena.¡¯


    The barbarians have left the Star Temple and were on their way to break peace with the city of Teblen, capital to the March of Tunow-Aine. A place they called home, even for those that had no choice in it.


    Bundles with personal armor and weapons, something to drink and a small meal for the night were carried by each. The brunt of their belongings had been brought outside the city and were guarded by Zaber¡¯s and Asher¡¯s lifelong friends, Breg and Buron. They awaited them outside the city, to the north, in a grove between the hamlets of Hoam and Waelan.


    Seven men and one woman were penned together in a carriage. Bern¨¦ and ¨¨neci steered it, cloaked and hunched to stay unrecognizable. They spoke an occasional word in their native tongue. An accent that was close to the Upper Albinian spoken in Teblen. The border region had last changed hands around a hundred years ago. When half of the Tunow part of the march was lost. The two Gal¨¢zian¡¯s jobs were to bring them to the scouted houses in Old Teblen, on the street towards the Town Hall. It was a juddery journey over a cobbled path that came to a sudden halt. The five foreigners, slaves, and three freemen looked at one another. Asher and Zaber waited for three knocks from above.


    They sought eye contact, after which the two veterans left the carriage. Asher was wearing a brand new, indigo arming doublet with maille woven into the armpits and Zaber his thick old gambeson. Bulky and long, unlike his usual attire.


    ¡°Good work, we¡¯ll see us in the morrow,¡± said Asher to his goons and Zaber nodded them thankyou. The sly veteran pulled out his long, sturdy dagger in the style of the local guildsmen. When Zaber walked away north, with his stiletto in hand, Asher did the same to the south.


    A wonderfully half-timbered house was the greasy and unkempt veteran¡¯s target. A stone foundation with a patrician¡¯s family crest engraved above the door, with the year of its construction depicted right beneath. Houses in Old Teblen were less opulent than in St. Leodor, but carried a certain dignity. The dignity of old blood and even older coin. Zaber pulled up the padded collar of his gambeson and pressed his free hand on a small spying window within the entrance. A hard double knock followed.


    An impatient, even harder, double knock followed after some time. Sleepy wheezes and damp footsteps came closer after a few long breaths of waiting. A muffled voice asked; ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± The answer he got was but another single knock. Old Teblen was a safe quarter, filled with hired muscle and patrols. And so, the door opened.


    A scrawny old man in a white nightgown and a sleeping cap stood in front of Zaber. Though, not for long. ¡°Wh¨C¡± was all the man could get out before his candle fell to the ground. The hand raised to block the peeping window pressed onto the house¡¯s owner¡¯s mouth and Zaber pushed the cold steel into his soft belly. With stumbling steps, the old man tried to retreat and escape the grip on his face. To no success, as Zaber was quicker. This was not his first bout and unlearning murder was terribly tough. Both went down together, the man stumbling and Zaber following him as if he was glued to him. Muffled noises and some ¡®thuds¡¯ were heard, but not for long. With blood coloring the gown red, resistance faded. There was no need to silence the patrician anymore while quiet gurgles escaped him. Zaber placed the tip of his stiletto ¨C made to penetrate armor ¨C onto his victim¡¯s forehead¡­ The patrician¡¯s eyes widened and stayed that way.


    ¡°Moseph, honey?¡± A cramped female voice rang down, still sleepy. ¡°Who was that?¡±


    Zaber unmounted the dead body and stepped out of the puddle of blood in which he had been kneeling. He moved backwards and stepped on the fallen candle to quench it. He put the door ajar, and waved outside. The curtains were closed, and no screams or bumps was heard by his companions. Zaber hunched down and lurked on, moving upwards, without tension in his movement or posture.


    Seeing their sign, the rest of the warband moved out of the carriage. Torm carried his mentor¡¯s load in addition to his own, while Kovada and Seyfe went ahead. The other three Yesilians moved to Asher¡¯s side, who had worked equally clean and quick. Bolts snapped back into locks and both doors were closed. The apprentice saw the candle on the ground as dim moonlight illuminated the room. The wet spots on the ground¡­ Torm swallowed when he saw the body. If it weren¡¯t for Seyfe, reminding him what folk they were dealing with, he might have vomited. But the greetings for her old master changed his mind, as she kicked him in the groin and spat in his face.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the hag?¡± she spoke in an unmistakable accent and looked up the stairs of the great living room.


    ¡°Up,¡± said Zaber and set foot on the stairs again. As he walked down, he wiped the red off his weapon. ¡°Get it out of you. Quick. Don¡¯t overdo it, I want you down fast.¡±


    Torm¡¯s eyes were fixated on Zaber¡¯s stiletto before it was sheathed away. He had seen his mentor do things before. Real fights, sucker punches and the spars with him, Breg or Asher. But the nonchalance shown on this very day was... maybe it was the first time he saw him for real.


    The woman among them clenched her fists and dashed upstairs. Soon, groans and enraged pants became the background noise to their stay. All behind closed doors.


    With his first step into the patrician¡¯s home, Kovada looked around, not minding the corpse. A big table, soft chairs and a fireplace with no embers. The days had become warm enough, but the foggy sky and lack of stars meant they needed light. The big and hairy man moved his strong belly over and sat down in the most comfortable seat in the room. Truly made for the patriarch of this houshold, Kovada felt the velvet under his fingers.


    ¡°Enjoying yourself?¡± Zaber knelt on the floor, leaving behind bloody stains. He sorted through the bundle of his armor, occasionally looking up at Kovada on his throne. ¡°Glad you¡¯re relaxed. This ain¡¯t your first bout either, I suppose.¡± He placed different parts of his armor next to another chair. Neat and in the right order.


    The boy found ease in imitating his mentor, going through the gear he was given. Over and over his gaze slipped to the side, seeking reassurance in what Zaber did. ¡°Are we donning it right away?¡± He fiddled around the fringes of the worn-out, short-sleeved gambeson that Zaber usually wore.


    ¡°Later,¡± said Zaber and weighed the parts. He had not worn any metal in over three years. ¡°You gotta help me with that in the morrow.¡±


    ¡°Like a squire?¡± Torm wanted to burst in glee, but restrained himself to a coy smile. ¡°Like¨C¡±


    ¡°I swear¨C¡± Zaber interrupted the boy, but halted. A long sigh and a look at Kovada followed. It was damned impossible to get a read on the bear with the strong presence. ¡°You know what?¡± The mentor looked at his apprentice. ¡°Yes, like a squire.¡±


    ¡°For sure?¡± The boy squealed.


    Zaber shook his head. ¡°Go wild. But no touching yourself.¡±


    A couple of bumps heralded Seyfe¡¯s return. She had been given a long, lightly padded jack with eroded colors and pantaloons that would have gotten her in much trouble on any other day. But they were necessary, wide and flexible enough for what laid ahead of her. Seyfe got herself a pair of boots and a broad belt in which a sturdy Albinian Seax waited for action. She ran her bloodied fingertips through the turquoise veil that hid away her hair as she stepped down the stairway. With a swift grab, she ripped it from her head and freed her long black hair, which fell wild onto her shoulders and back. A twist and fold later and the headscarf became a roped bandana to tame her mane back in order. The scar along her hairline became visible for a brief moment and the tip of it still peeked out.


    ¡°By Lawiy¨¡?¨¡n,¡± said Seyfe and spat on her former master¡¯s face for a second time. ¡°I wish their cursed children would still live here.¡± The more she spoke, the heavier her accent got, until she started to mumble curses in her native tongue. To Kovada¡¯s amusement.


    ¡°Keep that anger up,¡± said Zaber and stepped in front of the fireplace. ¡°Let¡¯s get you briefed. Torm, clear the table.¡± He picked up a piece of charcoal and pointed at the furniture. The folk living here seemed to have the widespread habit of setting up their breakfast table on the eve before. Butter knives, wooden boards and cups and bowls were all waiting for something lavish. Something the riff-raff could only dream about.


    ¡°Hanifa told me you¡¯re chief now.¡± The former bandit pushed a clay pitcher off the table and shattered it. ¡°How we gonna murder more beyaz??¡±


    ¡°Damned, girl,¡± said Torm with a cheeky smirk and concerned eyes. ¡°Do we have to chain you up for the night?¡± He emptied a vase with rare flowers over the face of the dead patrician, hoping it would wash away some of the blood and smell.


    The room fell silent and Kovada stared at the boy as intense as ever. Seyfe moved right in front of him, flexing her jaw muscles. ¡°Touch me and I¡¯ll cut you in places that haven¡¯t grown yet.¡± There was a full head and decade between them, but that wouldn¡¯t stop her.


    ¡°Tone it down.¡± Zaber walked next to them, joining in on the stares. ¡°He didn¡¯t mean to. He only talked to the timid and shallow,¡± he said and swatted against Torm¡¯s chest, reining him back in. ¡°You¡¯re too much for him. You can mutilate him after our victory¡­ if he keeps up the dumbarsery.¡± With the last part, he looked at the boy scolding and placed the charcoal on top of the white tablecloth.


    The former mercenary drew a rough sketch of the streets and crossings. He added the houses from memory and what was deemed important to the plan. The details weren¡¯t important, except for what laid around them. Five paths converged ahead and Zaber marked the squares representing the houses they took. Asher¡¯s group was in a smaller house. The inhabitant was a grizzled old man who owned a few shops at Sonora¡¯s Market.


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    ¡°We¡¯re here and Asher there,¡± said Zaber and pointed at the houses. ¡°He¡¯s giving the same speech right now.¡± He drew more squares and four thick lines in front of it. The transport and horses. ¡°That¡¯s our target. Party starts when it hits that spot, roughly. Yar?? has a bow, so he can let loose more often than Torm. We come out at once, he shoots the nags. Even one dead will make a roadblock.¡± Zaber sounded cold and calculating. He looked at Seyfe and Torm and waited for any kind of confirmation that they understood, be it a nod or grunt or whatever. The drawing continued; two small shields at the flanks of the transport. ¡°Asher and I will go for these. You, Seyfe, and Kovada will back me up. Torm, you will shoot this guy here,¡± said Zaber and drew another shield on top of the transport. ¡°When the doors open, you and Yar?? go first. Shoot once, step aside ¨C make room for me. Next, Kovada and Seyfe will throw one Javelin each.¡±


    Kovada still sat in the comfortable chair, but leaned to the side to listen and look. Where the woman was focused like a taut bowstring and Torm nervously fiddling with the nagel of his blade, the stout warrior was unflappable. He only rolled up his sleeves. The robes he wore were tied up to the knees. His legs and ankles were wrapped with cloth, and he did not wear his usual tabard, to assure Kovada¡¯s mobility. The colorful turban around a cap, though, was still the same.


    ¡°The fella on top will have a crossbow too. You have to keep him occupied. Annoy the fuck out of him; frequency over accuracy.¡± The charcoal trickled all over the guard¡¯s mark because Zaber kept tapping. ¡°If you can kill him ¨C great. But keeping him from killing us is more important. Never let him aim or reload,¡± said Zaber and wrote an A and a Z in front of their houses, next to the guards flanking the transport. ¡°We lead the armored vanguard. Nazik and Van with Asher, you two with me.¡± An arrow pointing at the targets got drawn, indicating their movements. ¡°I¡¯ll dispatch these. I expect halberds, maille and kettle. Maybe less. Fella on top might be more tinned. I fell them, you two ice them. Got it?¡± He looked at Kovada. ¡°Couldn¡¯t get you any fitting armor, big boy,¡± said Zaber, but Kovada only gave it a fleeting shrug. ¡°Still, I need you at the forward position. Because of this arsehole here.¡± The greasy and unkempt veteran pointed at the front of the transport and drew another shield, colored black. ¡°There gotta be a man-at-arms with the coachman. Something two-handed, maybe a sword, maybe a polearm. Enclosed helmet, clad like me or Asher. Keep an eye on him for me, as I mow down the fodder. I¡¯ll deal with him as soon as I can, or Asher if that¡¯s the flank tincan goes for.¡±


    ¡°Let me take him,¡± spoke Seyfe up and patted her torso, to highlight the paddings. ¡°You got me this ?amm¨¡m and vambraces, no need to endanger noble Kovada.¡± Her voice rose and she knocked the hard boiled leather at her arms and shins together. The woman¡¯s hair had become sweaty, now that it was out in the open. She pulled on the collar to not die from overheating.


    The broad Yesilian man on his throne couldn¡¯t look less concerned. After smiling at Seyfe, Kovada leaned forward at the small bundle he had brought together with a spear and javelin. He held up a thick pair of hide gloves and two oversized vambraces. It had been hard to find anything in his size. There was not enough time to take his measurements and have it custom made for the tree trunks that were his arms and legs. And that wouldn¡¯t even had tackled the issue that was Kovada¡¯s strong core. He waved the gloves up and down. A calming motion.


    ¡°Hanifa told me you were a crook, not a soldier,¡± said Zaber and nodded curtly at Kovada, who showed no sympathy back. Even less after the following choice of words. ¡°I trust you to know your way around a spear. But I trust this hulking beast more.¡± A discontent grunt followed from Seyfe. There was no denying that Kovada was the right man for the task.


    Torm hadn¡¯t commented on the plan at all. He just nodded along and echoed it word by word in his mind. The plan had been told to him countless times over the last three days. There had been nothing but drill, discipline and getting rid of their belongings. Whenever Torm could, he sorted and unpacked more of his gear for the next day. To keep himself busy and not look at the corpse in the room, or think about the corpse upstairs.


    ¡°¡¯aight.¡± Zaber snapped back at the table and knocked on it twice to get everyone¡¯s attention back on track. ¡°First, I open the door. Boy lets loose one shot; steps aside,¡± he repeated and pointed at every step drawn by charcoal. ¡°I charge out, beat those nobodies down. You come out, throw the javelins; switch to spear. I fell them, you kill them.¡± The charcoal rested on top of the man-at-arms, next to the coachman. ¡°If the rich kid jumps us, Kovada fends him off until I tag in. Don¡¯t worry too much, good gear doesn¡¯t make a good tussle. Guard duty is ransom for low guildfolk, they can¡¯t fight shit.¡± The mentor held out his hand at Torm and flicked his fingers. A bolt cutter, heavy and forged in black iron, was handed over by the apprentice. ¡°Asher has one too. If the tinned fella goes for Asher, I will reach for Sagir. We hand him the tool and continue to fight.¡±


    Everyone in the room felt the confidence radiating from Zaber, who seemed truly in his element. The woman had not known him at all until today, but heard conflicting stories. He didn¡¯t matter to her masters and their trade of salts. But Seyfe had heard of Ceyhan and the brothel and how the other beyaz? spoke about Zaber. She also felt how Kovada viewed the man and his opinion was most valued among their community.


    For Torm it was quite the opposite. Seeing his mentor act and talk like this was exciting and exhausting at the same time. The boy was allowed to move at his own pace during Zaber¡¯s tutelage, even though failure was pointed out harshly. Over were these days, and for the first time real pressure was put onto him. To get it right, a matter of life and death. This was, without a doubt, the Zaber he had met five years ago, for better and for worse.


    ¡°We let the prisoners run wild to cause a distraction; they ain¡¯t our problem. But we gotta scram when Sagir is out and able to move,¡± said Zaber and drew big squares with an X that blocked the streets around them. ¡°Central is close, courthouse and town hall have their own sellswords around. Reinforcements will come as soon as word reaches them. From here¡­¡± He pointed at the blocks, ¡°¡­ or here. Or both.¡± Teblen was a big city, with over eighty thousand inside its walls. It was cramped and the district of Old Teblen was filled with old riches and nobility. Someone would run and snitch, for sure. ¡°This gotta be over in a jiffy or we have to deal with backup.¡±


    Seyfe¡¯s eyes twitched around the sketches, deep in thought. Her fingers ran over the blocks of reinforcements and the shields of the guard. She used them to clean her hands of blood. ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Up to a banner.¡± Zaber smirked at the blood on the tablecloth, carefully watched by Torm. ¡°Or¡­ bolk is what your kind calls it.¡±


    ¡°B?l¨¹k,¡± corrected Seyfe and her eyes narrowed. ¡°What do we do if that happens?¡±


    ¡°We die,¡± said Zaber, unfazed. ¡°We¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°Hrmph,¡± the foreign woman¡¯s face distorted and she ripped a bloody hole into the tablecloth. ¡°My sister insisted I help you, and Hanifa told me to trust you. I am prepared to join the Prophet among the Stars.¡±


    ¡°I promised her I fix this. I ain¡¯t going back on promises.¡± The veteran looked at his ward. ¡°Ain¡¯t I, boy?¡±


    The boy shook his head back into reality. His previously concerned look had turned to defeat when he realized the question. Torm looked at Seyfe and said, ¡°In the worst way possible,¡± followed by a chuckle. He didn¡¯t know if he chuckled at himself, at her, or at Zaber. But it felt right.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about fighting the escorts,¡± said Zaber and drew one final circle onto the map. Behind an alley close to the house they resided in, hidden away from the transport. ¡°The fun part starts after. Old Teblen has the most developed sewage of all quarters. This entrance here,¡± he placed his thumb on it and twisted it like a screw. ¡°This is where we win. Sagir, you, all of us. Just follow me, Asher will take the rear guard, so nobody falls behind. Straight north, beneath the graveyard; outside the walls.¡±


    The charcoal rested on the makeshift map and a thoughtful silence filled the room. Kovada pulled out a small strip of cured beef from his cloth belt, and chewed on it. When he sank deeper into his armchair, Seyfe¡¯s mind drowned in anticipation. Whatever happened in the morrow, she would be free again. Her hands let go of the tablecloth and clung to the blade at her hip.


    Torm was fighting his own heartbeat and the queasy feeling in his guts. Ever since they entered the room, he tried to figure out what it was that made him so uneasy. Sure, the dead body played its part, but¡­ this is what he wanted. Living the life, fighting the fight. Being treated as an equal and being involved in what his mentor used to do. But seeing Zaber this way was more than Torm could stomach. That smirk before made him realize what it was, why seeing Zaber so much like himself made the boy nervous. Zaber had always been vigilant, tense, and painfully alert, constantly, like an oil lamp that was about to combust. Seeing him so filled with purpose, he was reminded of what Beotold said about them. When he excluded Torm. The young man was filled with fear, not only for his own life, but¡­


    ¡°We got about six candles to burn,¡± said Zaber and knelt next to his loadout. He pulled out six sticks of wax and notched six times across their length. ¡°Big boy and I will take the first and second. You two go up and rest.¡±


    ¡°If we take the next two, that leaves two more,¡± said Torm and packed what he needed upstairs. Seyfe had already shrugged it off and went ahead.


    ¡°Go,¡± ordered Zaber.


    Gloomy, Torm did as he was told. There was no time to read, nor to think. He had to rest as much as possible, to be at full strength tomorrow. To prove himself. When he caught up with Seyfe on their way up, he uttered a soft, ¡°Sorry¡±.


    ¡°Remember what I said about touching,¡± uttered Seyfe. ¡°Bedsheets are in the cupboard next to the door. I¡¯ll clean up.¡±


    The greasy and unkempt veteran had set up everything quickly. A candle stood right above the fireplace, and the fancy decorations of the room were used to dim its light. The curtains were closed and all windows barred and bolted. Zaber had placed all armor in order for quick donning. He took seat in another armchair, moved right next to Kovada. A large, two-handed, single-edged and slightly bent weapon was placed on his lap. A nagel stood out at the crossguard ¨C a Kriegsmesser. Another two handed sword in an ornamented scabbard leaned right next to him. It wore the coat of arms of Airich of Belge, the imperial crest and the slaying of a dragon right between those.


    For a long time, no words were spoken between the two warriors. Both looking at the flame of the candle.


    ¡­


    ¡°So,¡± said Zaber quietly. This part of the plan had not been shared, as of yet. Not even with Torm or Asher. ¡°They cut your tongue out?¡±


    Kovada did not answer. He looked so content with himself, it was unsettling. No grunts, no moans, and no sighs as an answer. Ceaselessly chewing on cured beef.


    ¡°You familiar with Agha Mur ad-Din?¡± Zaber watched Kovada. ¡°I might have a¨C¡±


    The hairy man, built like a barrel, lifted his hand to sooth his watchpartner. He looked ever so cordial and for the first time, he smiled at Zaber. But no smile of sympathy. A wordless movement of his lips¡­ he understood.


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± replied Zaber and leaned back, relaxed. ¡°Just be better to your subjects¡­¡± He ran his hand over the flat of his blade and looked over to the door. ¡°when I bring y¡¯all home.¡±


    The slave called Kovada let out a guttural grumble and nodded, still smiling.

 Chapter 13 - Day Six

    Chapter 13


    Day Six ¨C Sunrise


    Dawn went by and Father Sun hid away behind the clouds. It had cooled down again with the onset of rain, merging with the ever-present gray veil that lay upon the city. The inhabitants of Teblen didn¡¯t know nor cared about this particular day. It did not stand out. It was like every other court day.


    Many had gathered behind the caged wagons made from sturdy wood. Sixteen men and three women, penned together with no room for comfort. Shackled and restrained, an imposing iron lock weighing down on their freedom.


    Only one of them stood out as darker and stranger. But among this criminal bunch of the worst offenses, not even that mattered. Even at this early time of day, the spectacle was too appealing to miss. Many accompanied the procession, the public shaming of these murderers and rapists, even if it was only for a couple hundred yards. Armed with latrine buckets to empty into the sewage, as the laws of the Baronet decreed. A handy opportunity to show these outlaws what civilized townsfolk had to say. And if a bucket slipped, just for this occasion, it may be overlooked.


    Sagir sat in the far end of the second cage. The one up front was only half as long, as it also had the coach box on it, separated from the cage by thick planks. A plain looking commoner, old, with a hat made from straw and a woodchip between his teeth, sat at the helm. Right next to him, a fully tinned fella with a bascinet helmet that had a latticed visor. An old model, most likely second hand. A hefty chestplate, arms and legs adorned in iron that loosely fit and some faulds covering his hips. No rivets or maille peaked out from beneath, but paddings that had good coin poured into them. The weapons of the man were hidden away, under the seat or behind the planks. But a dagger in an ornamented scabbard showed the crest of his patrician family. A green shield with a silver gulden and two hands shaking in agreement.


    The guards escorting them were clad in maille and cheap paddings, each wearing a different kind of kettle. Only the crossbowman on top of the transport wore additional platings around the neck, shoulders and shins. Clopping sounded through town from the bumpy, cobbled street. The man on top, of rank corporal, kept his feet steady though. The coachman took his time, slow, to let the commonfolk savor the show. As long as no one sullied a watchman, or approached them with dangerous tools, the humiliation could continue. If anything, the guard¡¯s grins and mockery encouraged it.


    Whenever an inmate would speak up or misbehave in the eyes of a spectator, the soldier above them drew his sidearm. To threaten and rattle at them good with the arming sword each guard wore. If it wasn¡¯t him, another one would smash the flat of their halberd into the cage¡¯s side. Give them a good scare. With all their humanity lost, there was nothing else for them to do but cover their eyes and mouths and keep quiet.


    The curtains of the house conquered by the vile defiler of Westwatch and his cronies were left open by a finger¡¯s width. Seyfe was on the lookout. Nobody but she and her sister D¨©ny¨¡ were expected to come over that early, in service to their masters. Anyone else coming in search of friends, family or masters would be sent away disappointed. If anybody would be too insistent, a warm welcome at Zaber¡¯s hands would be waiting for them. But gladly, none did.


    Kovada and Seyfe had two different spears, neither really made for warfare. A proper pike would have been too long to take inside a house. And throwing spears hadn¡¯t found use in warfare for centuries in Albion. Javelins and boar spears were for hunting, but would serve well enough. These sturdy weapons were all Asher could muster in this short amount of time. The more sophisticated weapons he and Zaber owned were not what the Yesilians were used to.


    The mentor had helped his apprentice into his first fitting of armor, after which the boy¡¯s dream of squiring finally became true. It was a complicated disappointment. Torm himself wore Zaber¡¯s worn-out gambeson. It perfectly fit beneath the old hauberk that got it¡¯s rust oiled off. With the lange messer at his hip, too, he even tried to act and move like Zaber. The crossbow cocked and loaded, with a quiver and a hook hanging from the boy¡¯s belt. Every now and then, he fiddled around at the chinstrap of the skullcap.


    As a man-at-arms of many years, Zaber stood slightly offset to the door. One hand held its handle, ready. A two handed kriegsmesser rested over his shoulder, held in place by his dominant hand. He wore a brigandine of smooth red-brown leather, with rusted rivets. It covered him down to the hips and a bevor made his mouth disappear behind steel. The visor of his sallet, in lower albinian fashion, was still open. From shoulders down to the gauntlets and from codpiece down to sabatons, all limbs were in full platings. Old, dented and clawed, but solid steel. Tarnished but not dysfunctional. A thick belt over the armor held the sheath of his arms in place and the trusty stiletto was waiting for action. The bolt cutter was tucked in too, as if it was a second sidearm. And around his torso, a thick leather baldric held Airich¡¯s longsword in its scabbard. Pressed against his back, with no space to get tangled or lost.


    None of them had spoken a word since the street became busy. The excruciating silence was only broken when Seyfe finally reported, ¡°Horses. I see horses¡±, picked up her spears and nodded. ¡°Four. And guards.¡±


    Zaber let go of the knob and held out a fist. ¡°One, two¨C¡± He opened his hand one finger after another, pausing for one long breath before finishing the count. ¡°Three!


    A startled scream and damp cracks of wood announced the party starting. A pompous man in colorful garments and a fine cloak nearly lost his poofy beret when he got the door slammed into his face. Stumbling backwards, he held his nose. Quick on his feet, he tried to look like he was shielding a young companion with his body. He shrieked once more when Torm let loose the first bolt. Out of the darkness of the house, a buzzing went by in front of the passerby¡¯s faces.


    Torm¡¯s body had moved without thinking and the drill proved itself effective. He hit right beneath his chest and a face full of lumber shocked the crossbowman on top of the transport. Eyes closed and with a distorted visage, a painful ¡°Argh!¡± opened the crowd up to panic.


    Reloading, the boy stepped aside to make room for the vanguard. The carriage had come to a halt with an elongated ¡°Hooo¡±. Slapping down the visor, an anticipating smile flared up and Zaber set foot outside. The same man that got his nose bumped before had made the wrong decision and fled into the line of fire. Without looking at him, Zaber swung his free gauntlet to the side and knocked the pompous man down. He grabbed the Kriegsmesser with both hands and lowered his stance, taking aim at the closest escort. The crowd was like a flock of hens, all over the street. The veteran took a horizontal swing at the coiffed neck of the baffled guard. Before his foe¡¯s halberd changed into a defensive position, Zaber had cracked the man to the side and switched into a shoulder-push. The weight of a well trained man-at-arms, fully tinned, pushed the guard sidewards. Made room for another upwards swing that threw the overwhelmed soldier off his feet.


    Surrounded by hysteria, Kovada paced into the street. The smile on his face was not due to witnessing Zaber¡¯s craft. After years under their heel, Seyfe and he reveled in the beyaz?¡¯s reactions. It was like he never left the steppes, the deserts, the mountains and battlefields of his homelands. He flung the javelin effortlessly. With arms and a body like Kovada¡¯s, the crossbowman on top could barely withstand the pain. Blinded by the splinters and hurt by the tip of a javelin piercing the maille at his chest ever so slightly, the guard¡¯s first bolt shot above the door. Accompanied by a guttural warcry, the next javelin went into his hip and the woman that threw it became even louder afterwards. The corporal above the prisoners fell off his position. After a ¡®jangle¡¯ of his armor and a teeth-grinding ¡®thud¡¯ on the pavement, his movements came to an abrupt end. In glee, Seyfe switched to the boar spear, took position and stabbed the first felled fella by Zaber in the face.


    ¡°Two down,¡± she exclaimed, while Torm reloaded.


    The veteran and his flankers looked menacingly mad. With each step that Zaber took, lowered in stance, the second guard shifted backwards. He wrapped his left hand around the edge of the Kriegsmesser for half-swording. The shaken escort took the initiative and hammered his halberd down on the armored assailant, only to be faced head on. Before the polearm retreated, Zaber stepped into its range and bound it from the block. A slow gait became swift steps and the length of the guard¡¯s weapon became an obstacle to himself. Not for the lack of options or versatility, but for a lack of training and experience. Close enough, Zaber shifted his body and struck the guard twice in the face with the pommel of his blade. Bones shattered and blood splattered, truly delightful. The man-at-arms even caught a glimpse of a tooth breaking. Before the guard stumbled backwards, Zaber wrapped his arms and blade around the soldier¡¯s neck and shoulders. A powerful kick swept the halberdier into the pavement. The guard¡¯s last sight was the enormous hairy arms of Kovada, the boar spear he held and a fatherly expression that told him that it would be over soon.


    Sagir didn¡¯t believe his eyes at first. He had hoped and prayed for something to happen. Anything. But when it did, it was as unexpected to him as it was to the guards. The inmates around him were just as awestruck. The moment a patrician got hit in the muzzle, zest overtook their faces. The men and women grabbed their chains and shook them. Thrilled, their hollering was heard throughout the street.


    ¡°Shut up! Quiet!¡± Sagir tried to calm them down. ¡°Zaber?!¡± He reached out to the armored man. Torm still hid away inside the house to reload. Sagir recognized Kovada and Seyfe, but none of them reacted. Everyone was too focused on the plan. ¡°Kovada, Zaber! Listen, please¨C¡±


    The tinned veteran looked straight at Sagir, through the slits of his sallet. It seemed like Zaber might have nodded, but he turned his head too fast to be sure. He looked around and searched for something else. Where was Asher? Where were the others? The guards on the other flank were on the move and the door where their comrades should have come out from was still closed. And so were the curtains. With heavy metal steps, Zaber closed in on the cages and moved between them.


    ¡°Metal man! Metal man!¡± chanted the captives. ¡°Free us!¡±


    ¡°Zaber! Listen, they¨C¡± Sagir was barely audible through the heat. He had lost the brief eye contact they made and frustration set in. The stranger among the prisoners tried to gain his friend¡¯s attention. ¡°¨Cquick, look ahead¨C¡±


    When Zaber grabbed the pliers from his belt and held them in front of the cage, he had no answer for Sagir. ¡°Free yourself,¡± he said to the closest prisoners. ¡°If the Yesilian doesn¡¯t make it, I¡¯ll murder y¡¯all.¡± For a brief moment, Zaber¡¯s eyes shifted away from their enemies. Sagir was on the other end, closest to Seyfe. But Zaber had to say something, directed towards his foreign friend, even before he needed to find Asher. ¡°I am s¨C¡± The words didn¡¯t go through. A loud ¡®clang¡¯ hit Zaber¡¯s head, deflected by the helmet, and slid down onto the pauldron.


    While one guard was about to take the long route around the transport, the other one had taken the opportunity to charge Zaber. They faced off between the coupling of the wagons. A pressing pain went through Zaber¡¯s spine and he had to take a step to the side to not stumble. There was not much space between the cages and these soldiers were not trained to fight in confined spaces like a formation. It took too long to draw the halberd back for another strike. Plenty of time for Zaber to grab it after the shock had faded out of his head.


    ¡°I¡¯ll fix this!¡± he yelled at Sagir as he skipped over the coupling. The leverage of a polearm was much to withstand, but it was over quickly when Zaber landed on the other side. With a one-handed thrust, the former mercenary jammed the kriegsmesser¡¯s tip into the guard¡¯s stomach. Whether the maille or padding was penetrated at all wasn''t important. Zaber drove all air out of this man¡¯s body and shocked him into a cringed position. A loud cough signified success. The veteran let go of the polearm, grabbed his sword with two hands, and moved in. A swing to the face flipped the kettle helmet of the guard up and left a cut across his chin. Screaming, the private went to the ground and got his face stomped by Zaber.


    ¡°Ego ventil¨­!¡± A sonorous tenor raced through the streets. Ripples rushed through the glass that folk around this part of town were able to afford. As if a sudden storm had erupted, loose fabrics danced to the melody. Zaber braced himself against a gust of wind, even with an additional fifty pounds of armor. The steel sabatons grinded over the pavement.


    The man-at-arms that sat next to the coachman had jumped off the seat and entered the battlefield. It took way longer than Zaber had expected and had the added surprise of being¡­ that. They have sent a patrician to guard the transport. His arms were cast forward, as if he had pushed an entire block of air with the melody of his voice.


    ¡°Ego lapis~¡± From open palms, he turned them around and grabbed onto nothing. A sudden pull accompanied the end of a clear tenor that dipped into a falsetto for the last pitch. ¡°Trah¨­!¡± A cobble, ripped right from the pavement, accelerated towards the singer. When it hit Zaber, the patrician¡¯s wrists clashed against his own cuirass.


    A resounding ¡®clonk¡¯ banged through the streets, demanding everyone¡¯s attention. Torm finished reloading and stepped into the open door of their refuge. At that very moment he saw a stone getting splintered against Zaber¡¯s helmet. For three days, the boy had been told that good armor was the most important asset to survive a war, not good weapons. That it gives a soldier the capability to tank through lesser men in droves, with no regard to his own well-being. The force needed to knock out a man in armor with one blow had to be immense. And it happened, right in front of Torm¡¯s eyes. To the man he thought of as indestructible.


    ¡°No!¡± screamed Torm and took aim at the biggest threat yet. ¡°Get up,¡± he continued and shot right into the side of the mage¡¯s visor. The tip of the bolt stuck out between the latices of the bascinet and the patrician¡¯s head was thrown to the side. Another, hunched over, high pitched tone came forth, all over the battlefield. But this time it was broken by faltered breaths and violent shivers. ¡°Get up, get up, get up!¡± Torm yelled on and on.


    The other guard had charged around the cages. The prisoners did their best to cut the links of their chains. One after another got rid of their shackles, jumped out and ran away. To no concern of the last remaining soldier to keep watch over them. He confronted Seyfe head on, who had also run around the transport. She deflected a first stab to the side, but her own counter-stab bounced right off the maille. She hadn¡¯t fought in close to a decade and she and her family had avoided taking their victims head on like this. Nonetheless, a stroke to her head was easy to avoid. The beyaz? were slow and she ducked under it without much effort. At least, that is what she thought before the soldier stepped in and attacked with the blunt pole. Seyfe was pushed to the right, but the gambeson softened the pain. A flick with the tip of her boar spear and she forced space between her and the guard again. Once more, she did no damage and the next thing she felt was intense pain. The axeblade of the halberd had entered her shoulder, but the weak arms and spirit of that beyaz? could not split her bones. By the Stars, she thought, thanks to the padding.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Sandwhore, who are you?¡± asked the guard.


    She fell to her knees and let go of the spear, but still had enough fight left. The woman tried to move her right hand, but the pain of shattered bones and split flesh was too intense. With her other hand, she grabbed the seax in her belt. ¡°Senin ?l¨¹m¨¹n olaca??m¡­¡±


    As the soldier withdrew his polearm, with a cruel grin on his face, a foreign humming closed in. ¡°Dumb bitc¨C¡±


    The guard had not noticed his impending doom. Did not notice the large, hairy man with arms that made wild animals jealous. Only noticed him when a spear went through his maille and paddings with uncanny strength. Kovada had chosen to thrust into the watchman¡¯s armpit and split open the converging rings. So deep, that the tip emerged from the shoulder, right next to his neck. Noble Kovada had intended to drive it into his heart, but even he had become rusty after all these years, and nothing but hums available.


    Their foe was overtaken by shock. The guard¡¯s hands trembled and Kovada took away the soldier¡¯s polearm before tossing it to the side. The watchman tried to grab his sidearm, but more steel was pressed inside him when Seyfe regained the strength to stand up. Her blade was driven through his chin, up his skull, before she fell to the ground, panting. Kovada took the guard¡¯s arming sword and left Seyfe her own, before shouldering her.


    ¡°Whip it,¡± yelled the tenor between gasps. ¡°Get going!¡±


    The coachman had ducked away behind the wooden planks that separated him from the convicts. He held his straw hat when the patrician ordered him to get out and a squeak of relief escaped his mouth. Spitting out the woodchip from his mouth, he grabbed onto the reins and cracked them hard. About half the convicts of the second wagon had snipped off their chains and jumped out, everyone for themselves. One of them fell out of the wagon when the horses began to gallop, just after freeing himself. The wheels ran him over and his cheering holler turned painful.


    Zaber had blacked out for a brief moment, as if a flash of light had sent him flying. Several feet away from where he stood, his clouded mind regained consciousness. A twitch ignited his limbs and the veteran dragged himself up from the ground. This was not his first bout. And it wouldn¡¯t be his last. ¡°Asher?¡± He murmured to himself, realizing that he laid right next to the other house. Braced against the wall, his instincts made him punch the windows into smithereens and tear down the curtains. This sight filled Zaber with so much rage that it helped him regain a clear and focused mind.


    Yar??¡¯ face had been busted up. A gash from his neck bled all over the floor, next to a toppled table. The tablecloth, drenched in red, covered half his body. Van and Nazik were only hinted at, feet behind some furniture, their weapons and armor lay all over the room. And in the middle of it, throned on a rocking chair, sat Asher. His doublet ripped open, blood spreading all over his chest, nearly slipping out of his seat. He looked at peace with himself, one hand on his bloodied sword.


    ¡°Ego ventil¨­,¡± chanted the tenor again, shriller and sharper than before. It blew Kovada right into his back, forcing Seyfe out of his arms and down from his shoulder. She screamed when she hit the ground, and Kovada turned around like the Sun Maiden turned a new dawn.


    ¡°You big, beautiful beast of a man!¡± Zaber¡¯s voice rose up. The slow and confident steps of before had become volatile. Zaber picked up the kriegsmesser with both hands and marched towards the patrician. ¡°This ain¡¯t over, we have some more killing to do.¡±


    Kovada looked down at his own body. These big hands used to be more capable and the barrel of his belly used to be filled with more strength. But today was the day. The day he would become Kovada again. He nodded more to himself than to Zaber and flipped the hunting spear over in his palm. With the looted arming sword still in the other hand, Kovada threw back his arm and began to hum, smiling. Before Zaber reached the patrician that was already aiming with his hands, Kovada spoke¡­


    ¡°Q¨±a~?? tarta~fie¡­¡± The words were slow and missed the melody. Slurred and barely intelligible, even for his own. He tried; Kovada wanted to give it his all, like he used to. But without the required instrument, the spell fell short and only the melody carried its meaning. With boosted strength, above even his extraordinary physique, he flung the spear not made for flinging. Noble Kovada hit his target like he was young again, but the cuirass withstood.


    Before the patrician could say a word, his whole body lunged to the side. The spearhead gouged deep into the metal before the pole broke. He stumbled backwards, arms flailing. But he still stood, screaming off the top of his lungs. ¡°I was¨C¡± His tenorous voice could not hide the terror. ¡°Why are there two of you?! I was told¨C¡±


    Torm forgot to reload when he saw Kovada¡¯s might and how the spear flew faster than the bolts he shot. Even Zaber stopped, his brain still recovering from the hit. ¡°You are outnumbered,¡± said the veteran after shaking off the surprise. ¡°Running is your only chance.¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡± Their enemy looked around, his ill-fitted armor wiggling after these hits. ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he said. The decorated dagger from his hip was unsheathed and it became obvious that exhaustion slowed him down.


    ¡°Shut him up!¡± Zaber yelled at Torm, who went head over heels to reload again. ¡°Quick, before he¨C¡±


    ¡°Ego acceler¨­,¡± rang the words of the sonorous tenor. His voice had a slight taint in it, but the volume made up for it. He threw the dagger, revealed to be imprinted with dust like amber, at the Yesilian who had threatened his life so much. The patrician¡¯s arms were weak, but he burned all scripture in one go. It catapulted the steel further away and pierced right into Kovada¡¯s heart, with no armor to protect him.


    For the first time in over a decade, the man known as Kovada had smiled. Respected and revered by his people, this had been the first day he was truly alive again. He pointed the arming sword at the foe who had slain him as his garments turned red. The whimpering to his side, coming from Seyfe, had stopped and turned into a silent sob. His head collapsed onto the pavement, Kovada¡¯s beautiful face lay next to her.


    ¡°Help¡­¡± A surge ran through the woman. ¡°Help, by ar-Ru??, help me! Get your pale beyaz? ass over here!¡±


    ¡°Ego lap¨C¡± The tenor broke. A paving stone behind Seyfe had moved with a slight tremor, but couldn¡¯t be fully grasped by the music. Another bolt to the patrician¡¯s helmet had interrupted the spell and showered him in lumber. ¡°I¡¯ve had it with you,¡± he said and looked at Torm. Wheezing colored the shrill exclamation, exhausted. But not enough to not spread his arms wide open. Then they collapsed, as if he grabbed the air. ¡°Ego incend¨­!¡±


    A piercing high pitch raved around the boy and his hands combusted into raging flames. Overwhelmed and surprise by the heat, Torm let go of the crossbow. the eruption had been brief, and the wood had only been charred. But for long enough though to snap the string, ruining it for good. If he hadn¡¯t been given gloves, the boy¡¯s hands might have suffered a similar fate. But Torm recognized the patrician for who and what he was. His Mentor was a masterful thrower and had taught his apprentice well. The man they were facing was not a fighter and Torm felt empowered by the thought.


    Zaber looked past the patrician, the wagons moving around a corner. One more prisoner had jumped off far away, but he doubted it was Sagir. With his attention back on their enemy, the voice became louder and louder. He knew this amateur was still a threat. But the voice was wrong, Brenz was wrong. They had lost and needed to retreat. The veteran wanted to save at least one fella on this starforsaken day.


    ¡°Keep him busy; I need to¨C¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± yelled Torm and drew the lange messer. He was the closest to the patrician and charged.


    Straight after getting interrupted, Zaber turned around and ran towards Seyfe. The voice screamed at him, but when he arrived next to Kovada, more urgent thoughts were able to usurp it. One last check, looking into Kovada¡¯s smiling face, and Zaber moved on. ¡°Damned, I really needed you,¡± he said to himself and knelt next to Seyfe. He grabbed her hand and stared at her through the slits of his helmet. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare fuck off into the Stars.¡±


    ¡°You promised,¡± replied Seyfe and clenched her teeth. ¡°You¨C¡± Her strength dwindled, but not her anger.


    ¡°Keep that up,¡± said Zaber. He ripped a piece of Kovada¡¯s clothes and put it into Seyfe¡¯s good hand and press it onto her bad shoulder. ¡°Just a little more.¡±


    The veteran lowered the woman with much care before getting up again. He looked at his prot¨¦g¨¦, filled with vigor. Clad in maille, Zaber¡¯s maille, while Seyfe wore paddings. The rear guard of his formation and the front line, armed so very different. The boy did not play around, going for the patrician¡¯s neck. That would hinder the mage¡¯s speech for sure. But the patrician had moved and made the blade connect with metal instead. If their foe would have proper training, singing and fighting could have been done at once. Pleased with Torm, it still hurt Zaber to see how one mere man stopped them. One mere¡­


    ¡°You ain¡¯t that Beobold,¡± said Zaber loud and clear, attracting everyone¡¯s attention. He tossed the Kriegsmesser to the side and opened the buckle around his torso. ¡°Nor the other one. Rommul or so.¡± With a swift pull, Zaber brought forth the longsword from his back. Its scripture was filled with two differently colored dusts, mostly black and some reds. The reds crumbled out while he walked towards the patrician and Torm. The boy gained distance with a push kick and retreated to the side. ¡°What are you doing, Torm?!¡± Zaber yelled and sped up. ¡°You don¡¯t get a second chance with a line magician!¡±


    The patrician was wheezing and bent over to relieve his chest from pressure. The eyes behind the bascinet were fixated on the sword Zaber carried. Airich of Belge¡¯s sword.


    ¡°I¨C¡± The tenor panted like a steam kettle. ¡°I can¡¯t. My obligation¨C¡± He halted his words and he looked at Torm. The patrician¡¯s helmet twitched back and forth between the threats he had to deal with. What he already had accomplished and what was still ahead of him. ¡°I am Genhard Kyfer, of the Silver Street Kyfers. I do not fear¨C¡± He stopped again. A thought flashed through his mind and he took a long, visible breath. ¡°Sine pondere fier¨©~¡± He sung as quick and loud as he could, straightening his back and raising his arms. A snap was audible at the end, but he forced himself through the pain in his lungs. ¡°Terra exsurge!¡± He fell onto his knees, coughing and trying to get his hands behind the chestplate he wore.


    Zaber felt how his steps became lighter. Life or death fights did that to a man, but this was more than he had hoped for. The ground beneath his feet rose up and erupted into the air, lifting him into the sky. It was only for the blink of an eye. The pavings became rubble and he saw the battlefield from several yards above the ground. ¡°Ignam Vo¨C¡± Zaber tried to sing, but it was more like a scream with a surreal view, spinning out of control. He grabbed onto the sword, holding it tight like a dear friend. The weight of his armor had returned and the cobble and soil had already rained down, some of it on Seyfe. Tossed through the air, the greasy and unkempt man hit the wall of a nearby house ¨C far behind their fallen allies. Right at the entrance to an alleyway, all movement had ceased.


    The lange messer was about to slip from Torm¡¯s grip. He saw his mentor crash head first against a wooden edge, leaving a gruesome dent in it. His mouth opened ever so slightly before he clenched his fist and lips again. Torm did as he was taught and kicked the patrician to the ground. Now that he had overdone it, struggling for air, stomping his head wasn¡¯t hard to do. After that, the boy turned around and ran. Ran as reckless as he could, like never before. The boy saw the stones next to Seyfe¡¯s chest and head but ignored it. She didn¡¯t move either and the only thing Torm had eyes for was Zaber. They had lost and he had to save what was most important to him. The man who taught him everything.


    ¡°Zaber!¡± screamed the boy and wrapped his arms around his mentor. ¡°Wake up! Get¨C¡± He fiddled around with the veteran¡¯s helmet before giving up. Torm¡¯s head turned left and right and left and right again, his eyes were all over the place. When he saw the patrician twitching, he sheathed his blade and rose. Torm tried to pull Zaber up and shoulder him, but with his own armor and the armor Zaber wore, he simply couldn¡¯t. One more try, but he had to settle on grabbing the former mercenary¡¯s shoulders and dragging him. Thanks to the Stars, Torm¡¯s brain was still working enough to recognize this back-alley. With all the strength he could muster, they made their way behind the houses.


    ¡­


    For Genhard Kyfer, this had to be the worst day of his life. His chest, neck and legs were burning and it took a while for him to get up again. He had waited until he the voice of that youngster faded away. With more than just a limp, he pulled himself up and followed the ambushers. That Yesilian woman was not moving much, but enough for him to not get close. Bracing himself against the walls, he turned around the corner, behind the houses. Genhard only wanted to know so he could inform the reinforcements in what direction this Zaber and the boy fled. When he saw the open drain cover to the sewers, the patrician moved to its edge and looked down.


    ¡°No,¡± said Genhard and removed his helmet. ¡°Absolutely not.¡± He let it fall to the ground and wiped an abundance of sweat off his short blonde hair, which flowed right into some bushy sideburns. His fingers ran over the spot where the bolt had connected with his flesh through the lattices. Right under his eyes, nothing but a scratch. Still, it was enough for him to elicit a sharp, painful, ¡°Kch!¡±

 Chapter 14 - Day Zero

    Chapter 14


    Day Zero ¨C Afternoon


    A caravan of no fewer than fifty carts and carriages was making its way east, further away from the Astrias river meandering north. At the helm was the Gudena family, chosen by the artisans and merchants to be in charge of this venture. The waterway was, and remained, the western border between Albion and Gal¨¢zion, as neither side could strike a decisive victory. Two mercenaries were hired to ride at the front and rear respectively. Dornhall Gudena and his wife Rohanna led the way in freezing temperatures. The first snow had powdered the green and brown ground, at the edge of a forest between the barren fields.


    ¡°And, what¡¯s next?¡± Rohanna asked her husband, huddling her arms around her chest and rubbing them. She was a fine woman at the beginning of her thirties, though the last year had made her age faster. The crow¡¯s feet did not distract from the regal brooch that adorned her bright puff coif. Neither did the muddy stains at the hemlines of Rohanna¡¯s front-laced red dress.. It still carried the dignity of valuable fabrics. ¡°Back north, beg your father to rehire you?¡± But it was her posture that really sold it.


    Dornhall crouched over, reins in hand, and sighed aloud. All markers of his descent were gone, the sense of class his wife clung to was all but lost. Scuffed by the harsh reality he chose, Dornhall¡¯s well made boots were riddled with holes. A decorated, long gown had been peppered with specks of the campaign trail. Even his hat was defeathered and held barely onto his mutton chops.


    ¡°We have plenty barley and millet left,¡± said Dornhall, raising his eyes again. The back of the hired muscle in front of them, on a wobbly horse¡¯s ass, kept his mind on track. ¡°We have more than thirty thaler left, solid gold to invest. If we make it to Freybern, across the bridge¨C¡± He halted and straightened his posture to match that of his wife. ¡°Try our luck there. I was born a Fish, not a Kraken. Let¡¯s swim up that river¡­ they¡¯ll see.¡±


    Young Torhelm laid on his back inside the merchant¡¯s carriage, surrounded by their belongings. Nose deep into his favorite book, ¡®Little Squirt of a Squire¡¯, he couldn¡¯t care less about the heated debate of his parents. He had the time of his life. A real knight had bargained a deal with his father, to cater their regiment. The many new, and fun, words he learned from the children of the camp followers couldn¡¯t be used around his mother. Torhelm couldn¡¯t decide which was the best part since they left Hohendam. All the sharp weapons of the soldiers he saw, or the bare-chested women that strolled around the camp?


    A real fight, Torhelm did not see. Too tight was the schedule Rohanna had set for her son. Three candles of reading, three for his letters and three for his numbers. But they even found him a mage to chronicle the path to join an academy of the high arts. If Dornhall could get a foot into that door for his son and make enough coin¡­ maybe grandfather would put a good word in at home. Damned, would Torhelm enjoy this. To learn how to chant for war.


    ¡°By Father Sun, his daughters and all Stars, Dornhall¨C¡± Rohanna threw her arms up and slapped the coach box. ¡°We have to acquire a market stance and set it up. On short notice. Do your thirty-something thaler include the bribe for a magistrate? Because I bet you, we¨C¡±


    ¡°Quit your yapping, woman!¡± Her husband also slapped the coach box, nearly losing the reins. ¡°I know very well how this works. We¡¯ll decide when we¡¯re there,¡± said Dornhall and felt the knives from his wife¡¯s eyes. He didn¡¯t dare to look at her, but got glimpses of her crossed arms, puckered lips and puffed up cheeks. Whole breaths went by, before he spoke again. ¡°Alright, that was uncalled for¨C¡± He looked at her, put one hand on her knee and stroked it gently. ¡°See, I am as stressed as you.¡±


    ¡°Do not interrupt me again,¡± said Rohanna and loosened up. She leaned to the side and looked up and down the caravan. ¡°I might be your wife and bound to you by an oath to the Stars, but you are spending my brother¡¯s coin. I had your back when nobody else did.¡±


    ¡°Mother?¡± A childish voice called out from inside the wagon. ¡°I am cold. Where are the cloaks?¡±


    Rohanna turned around and knelt on the coach box. Through a small window she looked at her son, Torhelm. ¡°Sweetheart, they¡¯re hanging just over there. Above the sleeping mats,¡± she said and pointed inside. ¡°You know what? You are right, it is cold. Please give me our cloaks too, for me and your father.¡±


    ¡°If only that High General wouldn¡¯t have let the campaign drag into winter,¡± grumbled Dornhall. His wife laid the woolen cloak around his neck and sealed it tight with a bronze fibula, before doing the same for herself. ¡°Who fights a war in winter.¡±


    ¡°Typical for an Upper Albinian.¡± Rohanna rubbed her hands and breathed hot air into them. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t speak like this about His Highness, but the fool behaviors so much like the Rooster he is.¡±


    ¡°I think he¡¯s a Bull,¡± corrected Dornhall, eyes on the road. ¡°Stubborn arse.¡±


    ¡°As I said, born under foolish Stars.¡±


    The leader of the merchant trail raised an eyebrow and glimpsed at his wife. ¡°You¡¯re a Bull.¡±


    ¡°And should I lead an army? The King picked the Margrave, why¨C¡±


    ¡°Yes, why!¡± Dornhall¡¯s scream got the attention of the mercenary for a moment, who had been looking around quite a bit. ¡°General Airich and General Marwig are here too, the King has never favored a prince over experience.¡±


    ¡°You did it again!¡± The woman slapped her husband on the knee, making him kick the coach box out of reflex. ¡°One more time and I¡¯ll push you off.¡±


    ¡°I know, I know!¡± He stubbed his toe and wheezed in pain. ¡°I just don¡¯t get it. Marwig has not lost a single battle in this war and Airich is¡­¡± Tightening the grip of the reins in anger, Dornhall thought about a long list of things to say. ¡°Well, Airich. He outmaneuvered Mur ad-Din and the Gal¨¢zians respect him too. I thought the King and him were even friends.¡±


    ¡°What do we know,¡± said Rohanna and sighed. ¡°The Margrave is highest of status and it is not upon us to question His Majesty, the High King¨C¡± She turned around and spoke into the window behind her. ¡°Are you feeling warm yet, sweetheart?¡±


    ¡°Yes, mother,¡± replied Torhelm, preoccupied with his book.


    ¡°How are the numbers going?¡± She asked as inquisitive as ever.


    ¡°They are also warm,¡± giggled the boy.


    Rohanna tuned into her son¡¯s giggle and looked at her husband in glee. ¡°I tell you, he will outwit your father and my brother in no time. We have to get him into a university and then he¡¯ll make big guild coin with his allure and smarts.¡±


    His father also smiled and nodded along. ¡°We cannot call ourselves Gudena and son, but I¡¯ll think of something even better until then,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ll make us all proud, will you Torhelm?¡±


    ¡°Yes, father,¡± said the boy and flipped a page. He had reached his favorite part, when the squire obtained his first sword. Soon he would¡­


    ¡°Hooo!¡± The lightly armored man in front of them came to a halt, fist raised. He steered his horse around and rode back the trail. ¡°Halt! Halt!¡± he screamed. ¡°Something is wrong. There¡¯s a roadblock ahead.¡± With a drawn arming sword, the mercenary moved up to Dornhall.


    ¡°What is it? Bandits or storm damage? The sun will set soon, I don¡¯t want to sleep outside again,¡± said Dornhall and sighed frustrated.


    ¡°Women and children inside!¡± The armed man on horseback ignored his employer¡¯s plight and made himself heard all over the road. ¡°Men, arm up! Pass the order down the line!¡±


    A situation like this had been the exact reason why the merchant leader got himself some muscle. It was not unheard of that either winners and losers of a war were filled with soldiers who suddenly found themselves unemployed. Unemployed, but still armed to the teeth. Therefore, the merchants under Dornhall¡¯s lead did as ordered and repeated the fateful words wagon to wagon. None of the staff, aides nor passengers were licensed to carry weapons of war. So Torhelm¡¯s father was forced to grab the lumber axe from under his seat. He also checked on the precious dagger at his belt, a last line of defense.


    Rohanna pulled up her dress, jumped down onto the road and rushed around the carriage. She faced her son inside, breath drumming down her chest and packed away his books and mathematics. ¡°Forget that and come to me,¡± she said with open arms. The boy stood up and tried to peek out the window before his mother pulled him into a tight hug. ¡°And stay away from the windows,¡± she whispered into his ear.


    For a brief moment, Torhelm had seen what was about to happen. From the treeline next to the trail, shadowy figures scurried around.


    ¡°Crossbows!¡± yelled the grizzled veteran. ¡°Take cover behind the wagons!¡±


    Wrapped in his mother¡¯s arms, Torhelm could hear his father¡¯s wheezes. His steps were heavy and clumsy, and followed by startling ¡®thuds¡¯ and ¡®cracks¡¯ from the bolts shot onto the walls. With each hit, Rohanna¡¯s arms grew stronger. The tips snooped inside, probing for possible victims.


    ¡°Prepare to repel charge,¡± echoed another experienced command to the inexperienced.


    A pervasive silence followed, in which mother and child were only able to hear their own breaths. ¡°Let¡¯s lie down and close our eyes,¡± whispered Rohanna while stroking her son¡¯s hair in order. She forced the action onto Torhelm by putting her whole body¡¯s weight onto him.


    After even more awfully quiet moments that felt like an eternity, incoherent yells exploded around the cart. Voices jammed into each other, none of the men were discernible from each other. Wood broke, and steel played a frightening melody. Torhelm had been so excited about witnessing a battle, just a couple of days ago. Now he was thrown into the cruel reality of getting his wish fulfilled. The hired veteran¡¯s voice was the easiest to make out, commanding a timid Dornhall where to stand and how to protect his flank. Nothing but ¡°Y¨C, yes,¡± or ¡°Under¨C, understood,¡± could be heard from the peaceful soul that was Torhelm¡¯s father. His ever so strong-headed mother was trembling. Her grip tightened with every indistinguishable grunt. Every clash of arms, every sound that was impossible to identify. Hands firmly pressed onto Torhelm¡¯s head, Rohanna pushed her son into her shoulder. He was unable to move, as if this small, trim woman had the mass of a horse. Time stood still and was distorted¡­ up until all voices ceased and a realization about Dornhall, father and husband, a good man, settled in.


    ¡°Riders across the field!¡± yelled an unfamiliar voice, close. Very close.


    The door¡¯s handle jolted and an ever growing slit of light ran through the carriage. Rohanna¡¯s head jumped up and her eyes widened in terror. Yet, before she could take action, a familiar voice roared. ¡°Hands off!¡± The hired sword yelled and the door snapped back. Hearing the scuffle outside, bumping against the wood of the wagon, Rohanna pressed her hand onto Torhelm¡¯s mouth. Like the good mother she was, she grabbed a blanket from the side and threw it over her son. His head still glanced out, watching. The mother took a knife from the cooking stash in a reverse grip, hiding the edge behind her forearm. Crouching in front of the door, she listened to the violent murder that happened on the other side.


    Never had Torhelm seen his mother like that; a lynx, ready to pounce. He heard the footsteps closing in and all noises of battle were quenched for quite a while. The handle moved again and Rohanna blocked all sight deeper into the wagon.


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    ¡°Hello there, pretty,¡± said a toothless voice with a lisp of blood. ¡°You look like you know what¡¯s coming,¡± he cackled.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with,¡± said Rohanna and leapt outside.


    The door smashed shut and Torhelm, unlike before, heard every single word. ¡°Hey, hey!¡± The man laughed. ¡°So you like it rough, bitch? Let¡¯s go insi¨C¡± Interrupted by his own scream, the groaning and moaning began. Not the one expected by their assailant and Torhelm heard the man call his mother more names than anybody had ever dared to say. Hard knocks against the door, a biting growl¡­ and then back to silence. Not once did Torhelm¡¯s head slide back under the blanket. He lacked the strength to do so; his muscles felt hardened like stone. Eyes glued at the window of the door, from which he could barely see anything but the gray sky and snow falling. The shape of a head flickered past and the door opened again. In front of him stood a triumphant figure, hands holding onto nothing but blood. Freed, disheveled hair, panting and a piece of her sleeve ripped straight off. Rohanna smiled at her son, forced, and fell to her knees.


    ¡°Tor¡­m,¡± she whispered and laid her arms around him for a warm embrace. ¡°My be¡­love.¡± Tears and blood from her hip drenched the blanket between them. ¡°Stay quie¡­ don¡­ move.¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± mewled the boy. ¡°Are they gone? Was that the last?¡±


    ¡°Pr¨C, promise me, my boy.¡± Rohanna¡¯s voice became quieter with every syllable. ¡°Promise me that¨C¡± She swallowed her pain. ¡°Promise me you stay curious and study. You will become a handsome and smart young man,¡± she mumbles with her last strength and left a bloody kiss on his forehead. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ become a¨C¡± She halted. ¡°A fool.¡±


    ¡°Please!¡± Torhelm could not do what he was told, to stay quiet. ¡°Please, don¡¯t leave me here,¡± he speaks aloud. But there were no more words to return. They laid down next to each other, Rohanna slipping to the side, wrapped in their winter cloaks. Warm blood spread throughout the wagon and grew cold.


    ¡­


    ¡°Damned! That ain¡¯t our riders,¡± was the first sound that reached Torhelm after time had lost all meaning. He held onto his mother and nothing else.


    Hooves trampled and the sounds of battle gained track once more. No tragedy was able to distract from the mayhem. Torhelm slipped out from under the cover, and his mother. No matter the pain, she had set an example and he had to follow it. His parents did not raise a coward. Rummaging through the cooking utensils, he found another knife to arm himself with. The boy cowered in front of the door, ready to become a man. Act like the heroes he read about. His pants were already covered in blood, more would not worsen them. The third round of silence came sooner than expected with no battle close-by. A heavy set of footsteps came closer and the sound of metal on wood announced the door knob. Torhelm was ready. Ready, he was¡­


    ¡®Clank¡¯, rang the knife when he stabbed onto the red-brown brigandine of a heavily armored man. A polished sallet looked him dead in the eyes. At the sight of a buckler and a cavalry sword, Torhelm was overcome by fear. Yet, he recognized that this was not the man his mother fended off. The boy imagined a deadly stare behind the thin slits.


    ¡°A¨C¡± The boy¡¯s lungs were like boulders. ¡°Are you¡­ a knight?¡± He uttered.


    ¡°Do I look like I shit gold?¡± The soldier looked at the boy, and up and down the wagon.


    No face, no emotions, nothing for Torhelm to read. Until the imposing figure sheathed away his blade. ¡°Are you here to save us?¡± Torhelm still pushed the knife against the man¡¯s armored chest. Right where his heart might¡¯ve been.


    The soldier hesitated before pushing the edge to the side. ¡°This¡¯ your ma?¡±


    The only answer Torhelm was able to give was a desperate cry, now that he saw his own weakness. The bitter tears of those who have lost. His knees gave in and he nearly fell over, unable to make his wailing words understood. Until a cold, steel plated arm entangled him.


    ¡°Yes boy,¡± said the rough voice beneath the helmet with a curt nod. ¡°I¡¯m here to save you.¡± With a lifted visor, a greasy and unshaven face uncovered. An improperly healed, old scar ran along the jawline, visible after his bevor was pulled down. The pair of brown eyes were uncaring and grim.


    ¡°Corporal!¡± Another man in maille and an open helmet yelled from the next wagon. ¡°Two more survivors. Had to drag a fella off a girl,¡± said the other soldier and walked over with a casual salute. ¡°Right after unmounting, what a mess.¡±


    ¡°Casualties?¡± Asked the corporal and placed a hand on Torhelm¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Zenn¡¯s dead. Tripped from the stirrups,¡± sighed the private, crestfallen, and shrugged.


    Torhelm knew the ranks of the soldiers. Another child had explained them to him, back with the camp followers. They differed from unit to unit, forged by different artisans. But a common pattern had established itself throughout Albion. Earning a shield meant that one was not a mere recruit anymore and either a sword or lance on it made you a corporal. Even though these men came on horseback, their insignia weren¡¯t those of cavalrymen.


    ¡°Damned, Snappy.¡± The more heavily armored soldier shook his head. ¡°That ain¡¯t good. He and Bode just got signed for another year. Do you know where he is?¡±


    ¡°Pff¨C¡± A sharp, disappointed whistle left Snappy¡¯s lips. ¡°I dunno where the other bodge brother is.¡± He mustered Torhelm and gasped when he saw the feet of his mother. ¡°Who¡¯s your new friend, Zaber?¡±


    ¡°Find Bode and relieve him from looting. Let him handle Zenn¡¯s body,¡± said Zaber and scratched the scar behind the bevor. ¡°I want Isenard and Beo to pack up the carts. You saddle up again and check on Asher¡¯s squad, after you¡¯ve found Bodger.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± nodded Snappy and waved another salute. ¡°Don¡¯t be scared, little man. We killed all the bad ones.¡± The private put his mailled hand onto Torhelm¡¯s other shoulder and winked at him as if it were any other day.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± said Zaber and lifted Torhelm out of the wagon. It was so quick that the boy couldn¡¯t resist. His first reaction on the ground was to turn around, look at his mother¡¯s back and head. And how everything was drenched in her blood. ¡°Eyes on the prize, boy.¡± The corporal turned the child around at the shoulders. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± The patrician child looked back; eyes sticky from the tears. The cold was seeping into his cheeks, and he wiped his face, clenched into the cloak.


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll let you handle this mess,¡± said Snappy and bumped his fist against Zaber¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Be right back.¡±


    After gaining Torhelm¡¯s attention, Zaber stared off to the other carts. Two more soldiers had taken off their helmets, clad in maille and thick paddings. They found something to drink and stood around said woman. She was young; too young to be around soldiers like them. The men surrounding her laughed when they felt their corporal¡¯s gaze on them and waved him over. ¡°What¡¯s the orders, big man?¡±


    Zaber and Torhelm wandered over to the older soldiers, who were somewhere around their forties. Only now did the boy notice how young Snappy was and this Zaber was closer to twenty than he was to thirty. Yet, the corporal was in charge and all the other soldiers met him with a dirty kind of respect.


    ¡°Get your arses to work,¡± said Zaber and looked at the trembling women. A couple of bags with millet and barley were already here and got more attention from the soldiers than her. ¡°I want everything packed up. Man the biggest carts you can find, bundle up the horses and move the rest into the woods for later.¡± He pointed around and got his wishes fulfilled very quickly. And got some half-assed salutes that nobody took seriously, followed by unmotivated strolls.


    Inside the cart with the millet and barley was a frail old man, staring into the snow. The young woman had grabbed her own arms to keep warm and not lose her nerves from what was about to happen. Zaber looked at her and the geezer, barely mentally present, before raising his hand in front of her face.


    ¡°¡¯aight, let¡¯s find y¡¯all some blankets,¡± said the corporal and unstrapped his helmet. He placed it on the coachbox and climbed up. ¡°Names?¡± Zaber looked down.


    Torhelm missed most of what happened as his eyes got fixated on the gutter canal next to the road. He recognized the boots peeking out and the featherless hat that got buried under the snow. Did he run away from them, or confront danger head-on? As Torhelm took his first step towards the gutter, a hand reached for his collar and his face went pale.


    ¡°Boy,¡± said Zaber from the coachbox. ¡°Leave it be. We¡¯ll bury them when we come back; we are just a dozen and¨C¡± The corporal hesitated. The old timer was still lost in his own gaze, but the young woman and child looked at him, shocked. ¡°Our orders took too long. General is sick and we got the news too late.¡±


    ¡°What news?¡± asked the woman. Her clothes were still intact, only a light cut on her hand and some snow and dirt here and there. She may be of age or not; hard to tell. ¡°Did you know? These two also said¨C¡±


    ¡°These ain¡¯t phoenix troops; they were griffons like us.¡± Zaber threw down two rough blankets and wrapped one around the frail figure inside the wagon. ¡°Common thing when free banners get dissolved.¡± His tone dampened.


    ¡°Common thing?!¡± The woman got loud. ¡°What do¨C¡±


    ¡°Warm up,¡± interrupted Zaber and jumped down, making a ruckus of metal sounds. ¡°I¡¯ll get this cart empty and bring y¡¯all to our camp for rest,¡± he explained and lent a hand to the young woman, glimpsing at Torhelm whose eyes wandered around the corpses. The young woman winced when the cold steel touched her. ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to,¡± said Zaber. ¡°How bad is it?¡±


    ¡°I¨C, I don¡¯t know,¡± she falters. ¡°He didn¡¯t go through. This is¡­ this is just¨C¡± She full stops.


    ¡°Get up and get warm.¡± The corporal placed his hand on the wool blanket in the woman¡¯s hand. She held it as if she had never seen one before.


    The soldier didn¡¯t get the response he had wished for. Her world and his had been too different. When she got up on her own, he looked after the boy and his unsettled eyes again. He took away his blanket and wrapped it around him.


    ¡°Names?¡± Zaber asked once more. ¡°I ain¡¯t asking again.¡±


    ¡°Bina,¡± said the woman and sat down, far away from the frail old man. Far away from any men, no matter the age.


    ¡°Greon,¡± whispered the geezer. ¡°I¡¯m from a village across the river. Ten days ago¨C¡± His voice was raspy and as weak as his body looked like. ¡°Ten days ago I got hired by Mersheimer and his men. T¨C, to tell ¡®em about good ambush spots¡­¡±


    Zaber sighed. ¡°We retreat soon. Airich will send you home,¡± he said. ¡°What about you, any place we can drop you off?¡± The veteran looked at the woman, huddled behind the barley.


    ¡°I paid a merchant to take me to Freybern,¡± she said, without eye contact. ¡°To see my uncle.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do when we¡¯re back,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod. ¡°What about you, boy? This¡¯ your pa?¡±


    The boy swallowed the shock and grabbed onto the blanket. ¡°Yes,¡± he sniveled. ¡°We¡¯re from Hohendam. Up north, where¨C¡± Torhelm¡¯s speech was slow.


    ¡°That¡¯s damned far away.¡± Zaber lifted him up the cart. ¡°I¡¯ll look after you until we figure it out,¡± he said. ¡°Now give me your damned name.¡±


    ¡°T¨C¡± The boy struggled with leaving sight of his father and mother. ¡°Tor¨C, Tor¡­ m.¡± Tears ran down his cheeks again. It was a long way ahead of them.

 Chapter 15 - Day Six

    Chapter 15


    Day Six ¨C Morning


    The shoals of Teblen, its sewage system, awaited Torm and the unconscious man in his care. The plan had failed on every imaginable level except for this last step. Zaber was still alive and Torm had dragged him to a manhole. An acrid stench filled the boy¡¯s nose, but nothing was going to stop him.


    There was not much time to think, with no ladder to descend and eight feet downwards. Arms wrapped around his mentor, Torm lowered him slowly into the gutter. The foggy light from above gave the boy a preview of what was waiting for him; a brownish, greenish sludge, slowly flowing to the south. With all that armor, Zaber was too heavy to be held for long. And the drop was too short to make it a gentle landing. Torm closed his eyes and let go, trying to guide the fall so that he wouldn¡¯t crack his head or break his legs. After a splash, the boy followed. He jumped at the best possible angle to avoid crashing into Zaber ¨C and succeeded. However, his footing was bad, and he tumbled over from the impact and uneven ground, soiling his pants and sleeves. There was no lingering on the disgust though, that mage was still behind them. Damned they be, Zaber even got some under his helmet¡­


    Torm stood up, his boots sinking into the sewage for a couple of inches. "Positioning himself swiftly, he pulled Zaber up by his arms and dragged him on. The natural light faded away, eaten by the depths of the underground. North; that was the only instruction the boy remembered. Either Asher or Zaber were supposed to take the lead here. He had to go north, alone. Under heavy breathing and soaking wet, stinking gambesons beneath their steel, he carried on. Until they ran into the first wall. His sense of time? Lost. Silent panic spread in his stomach and through his chest. He wanted to gasp and scream in frustration, but he couldn¡¯t allow anybody to hear him. Torm was running low and needed a break, but there was no time. In total darkness, he felt the stone behind him. A slight curve to the right¡­ or left while walking backwards. As he and Zaber came to a halt, the boy realized there was no noise. Only the flowing rot beneath them¡­ they weren¡¯t followed.


    In an instant, Torm¡¯s body gave in. He wasn¡¯t able to stand up properly for a while and his back hurt. His muscles ached and he just sat there for a very long moment. Head leaned back, the skullcap hit the wall behind him.


    ¡°Fucking¨C¡± said Torm with clenched fists, bumping them on the drenched paddings of his legs. ¡°Fuck, piss, shit,¡± he cried, muffled. ¡°Literal. Fucking. Shit.¡± He looked at his hands and punched into the gutter, splashing him and Zaber. ¡°Oh, shit,¡± he said again, but sorry. He fiddled around with the straps of Zaber¡¯s helmet, but the thick leather gloves he wore made it impossible to work in the dark. After throwing them away he opened the buckles on his mentor¡¯s chin. The sallet and bevor went right behind Torm¡¯s gloves, back into the drainage from where they came from.


    ¡°Come on, don¡¯t swallow it,¡± said the boy and felt for Zaber¡¯s lips and neck. ¡°I need light, I don¡¯t know where your damned mouth is.¡± Torm feared that he stuck his gutter-finger in the unconscious man¡¯s eye.


    Torm went on and suppressed another cry. The curve didn¡¯t go on for long and the boy thought it was straightening out, roughly north. An occasional source of light illuminated the underground further down the path. A crossroad of streams under a latticed manhole, not unlike the one they entered through. The boy didn¡¯t stop right under it, just close enough to bathe himself and Zaber in light. To take care of the man. His entire chin and mouth were covered in filth and neither of them had their usual canteen or waterskin with them.


    ¡°Fff¨C¡± Torm was about to scream, but regained control soon enough. ¡°Fuck it,¡± he whispered and opened every strap on Zaber¡¯s body. The brigandine, the pauldrons, greaves, legs, arms, maille ¨C everything. He got rid of his own hauberk as well, weighing him down so much. By the Kraken, where is north? Is this north?


    Just before he was about to speak to himself again, Torm heard steps from above. He looked up and saw Father Sun, producing a shadow to guide him. With the water of the sewage running from the northern moats down south to the river, making it just as disgusting, Torm regained a sliver of hope. He was on track.


    While the boy toiled on, he lost more and more of his armor. Arms, legs, shoulders. Only Zaber¡¯s short-sleeved gambeson, that Torm wore, and his own clothes beneath stayed on. Covered in piss and shit and whatever else folks emptied into the sewer. And the skullcap, because of how often Torm¡¯s head bumped into the low ceiling of the underground. His muscles burned and felt like the goo that surrounded them, forcing him to take a break every now and then. Whenever there was light, he checked on Zaber. Torm saw his eyelids twitch every so slightly and even though he was told that was a good sign, he felt his own breath become more erratic.


    How many candles had passed became more and more unclear. More folk above them were talking, passing rumors and driving jitters into Torm¡¯s bones. A transport to court had been ambushed. Some had escaped and the savage blackheads had been involved. But the main culprit was a violent heathen from Westwatch. The brave men of the city watch have repelled them and killed most of them.


    ¡°Don¡¯t¨C¡± slurred Zaber, still senseless. ¡°I¡­ no¨C¡±


    ¡°Please, man,¡± replied Torm, well aware that he wasn¡¯t heard. ¡°I can¡¯t do this without you. Stay with me, please.¡± He looked up, his face painted in dread, sweat and excrement. The way people talked, he was sure to be beneath a better quarter. He heard them speak about visiting the graveyard, but also going to the market. None of it was a sure-tell where to go.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°¨Ckill¨C¡± A drip of sludge spluttered out of Zaber¡¯s mouth.


    There was no stopping. Torm had to go on, never give up, never stop. He had to get out before the sun went down. Or else he would never be able to find the rendezvous point with Breg and Buron. They could ditch this starforsaken place, regain strength, start anew. Nurse Zaber back to health, Buron was good at this said Asher and his mentor. Kell was still waiting on the other side of the river and wouldn¡¯t do so forever.


    Just when Torm thought he was going in circles, bright light revealed itself behind the next turn. The light came not from above, but behind him. Is this what the Auror¡¯s are lecturing about in the Song of Ascension? By Father Sun, Torm hadn¡¯t prayed in a long time, but damn would he when this was over. The water beneath them was clear, even if the boy couldn¡¯t smell it with all the muck and grime in his clothes and pores. He left Zaber behind, head braced out of the water, and scouted ahead. A constant stream of water ran down a bricked wall, and Torm could finally stand tall again. He looked up at the thick bars that were the lower part of the city¡¯s walls and let in the moat¡¯s water. Connected via underground canals to Lake Teblen, it was the architectural foundation of the sewer system. But this wasn¡¯t Asher¡¯s smuggling route. None of the bars were loose; none could be removed. Nothing moved at all.


    ¡°No,¡± cried Torm, high-pitched. ¡°Nonono. How the fuck¨C¡± He searched the bricks, looked around in pain and frantically walked back and forth between the bars and Zaber. Knowing he was right under the walls, nobody could hear him anymore. The boy looked down on himself, wearing only a belt with his weapons. Grabbing his hunting knife, he walked back to the bricked wall and jammed it into the mortar. Right beneath the bars, under the highest chalk stone, scratching out thin dust. He only stopped to go back and look at Zaber or clean his hurting fingers with clear water. Only the Stars knew how long this would take, but one stone after another came loose. Torm used the blade his mentor had given to him as a crowbar, breaking out and widening the bars. Daylight was running out on him when he was finally able to squeeze his own body out of this prison that was the City of Teblen.


    Next he had to get Zaber up that wall without drowning him on the other side. The moat was six or seven feet deep, enough to hinder a force from storming the walls unimpeded. So the first step was to clean his own hands, then the greasy and unkempt man¡¯s face and hair, and then the same for himself. Erect Zaber against the wall as well as possible, squeezing himself up to sit on the edge of it. His butt was already wet, but it was at least clean water now. When Torm grabbed his mentor and lifted him by the shoulders, bumping his head against one of the bars, both of them toppled backward into the moat. Startled at first, he never let go of the human package he was carrying. Keeping their heads afloat wasn¡¯t an easy task, but Torm paddled backwards, like a duck, to the shore. There was no search party in sight and the walls were not manned. If that was also the case for the towers was impossible to tell from this angle. Torm took another break to assure that Zaber was still alive. They had to take a leap of faith and make a run for the hills. Judging from their position, the hamlets of Waelan and Hoam were to the east. The grove around and between these two were where Buron and Breg waited.


    ¡°¨Cain¡¯t¡­ doing¨C¡± mumbled Zaber while Torm shouldered him like a yoke. The boy was glad he was still breathing.


    ¡°A little more,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Stop¨C¡± was the next whisper. They made Torm halt, as if he got an order, but made up his mind when he heard, ¡°¨CAirich,¡± next. It sounded afraid and unlike Zaber.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    The pain in Torm¡¯s muscles had softened, either by newfound enthusiasm or the long break at the bars. Marching around the elevation of the hill, not to be exposed, looking for the treeline as guidance. Father Sun had reached his peak in the south and Torm¡¯s shadow kept him company and showed him the way.


    Down the woods, far from the walls, he yelled, ¡°Buron!¡± and closed in on the trees. ¡°Breg!¡± They had to be somewhere. A few yards at best.


    About the same moment the thought of them getting caught, like Asher, intruded his mind, a slender figure about his own height stepped out behind some bushes. Even though he was only a year younger than Zaber, Buron¡¯s dark blonde hair was already receding. He chose to age in dignity; shaving his head to a stubble. Wearing a simple and light tunic with high pantaloons, he was only armored with a sleeveless, tan gambeson. He carried a crossbow and wore a crude falchion on a leather girdle.


    ¡°Oh, shit,¡± exclaimed Buron, heavily. ¡°Come out, Zaber got fucked,¡± he yelled into the woods and waved at someone.


    An unreasonably tall man ran out in no time. His shoulders were wide and imposing, a towering presence. The thick, scuffed gambeson he wore wasn¡¯t dissimilar to Zaber¡¯s when fully tinned. Breg wasn¡¯t though, wearing rusted maille with plates layered above it. He had an angular face that was only rounded by a thick, curly beard that had streaks of gray in it. So was his long black hair. The wild man threw his bardiche axe aside, only armed with an unusually long seax in his belt, and reached for Torm in no time.


    ¡°Lemme help ya¡¯,¡± said Breg. Although it sounded like an offer, he grabbed Zaber immediately and took over as if there was no weight to him.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Buron picked his companion¡¯s polearm up and looked at Torm. ¡°Where¡¯s Ash and the Yesilians?¡± He walked right next to Breg and Torm, inspecting Zaber¡¯s face. He opened his eyelids and searched for wounds under the wet hair.


    ¡°I¨C¡± Finally safe, Torm¡¯s body and mind gave in. ¡°I don¡¯t know. L¨C, Let me¨C¡± he stuttered, closing his eyes and ran his hands through his hair before he cried, ¡°Everything went wrong.¡±

 Chapter 16 - Day Six

    Chapter 16


    Day Six ¨C Noon


    Into the woods, out of sight of the Margrave¡¯s Road, Zaber was bedded on the cold soil, between packed bundles, ready to make a run for it. The hamlets of Waelan and Hoam were close by. Filled with fishermen, cattle herders, woodworkers and artisans awaiting their incorporation into Teblen. Buron and Breg knew the fringes around the city well, where to hide and where folk might stumble into them.


    Torm was on his last leg and felt even worse when he saw how easy it was for Breg to carry their unconscious friend. Even in fully plated maille, this beast of a man showed no strain. His scrawny companion had carried the bardiche axe for him, looking concerned at Zaber all the way.


    The unreasonably tall men stood above Zaber and looked into a distorted face, constantly twitching and gasping. ¡°Wake up,¡± said Breg and slapped his friend with suitable care. Feet left and right of Zaber¡¯s torso, the only response was more unsteady eye movement and a mumbled ¡®Yessir¡¯.


    ¡°Oy!¡± Buron slapped Breg¡¯s arm. ¡°That¡¯s not helpful,¡± said the bald man and knelt next to Zaber on the ground, pushing his other friend away.


    ¡°It did that one time in Krasnia,¡± replied Breg and observed the situation.


    Buron stripped more of Zaber¡¯s clothes away. Piece by piece, until the filth-drenched gambeson was gone and only the breeches remained. ¡°Right, one time it did,¡± said Buron and palpated his stinking friend¡¯s upper body. ¡°But he only fell from a horse then.¡± The scrawny veteran looked up at Torm and mused. ¡°No cuts, that¡¯s good. What happened? Where is Ash?¡±


    The boy sat on one of the prepared knapsacks, gathering his thoughts. ¡°I don¡¯t know, man.¡± He massaged his knuckles and wrists. ¡°We did that pincer maneuver, hiding in¨C¡±


    ¡°We know the plan, get to the point,¡± interrupted Breg.


    ¡°Asher didn¡¯t get out. None of his squad did,¡± replied Torm immediately, running his hands through his hair.


    ¡°Are the Yesilians dead or caught?¡± The unreasonably tall man did not move from his friend¡¯s side and barely even looked at Torm.


    ¡°The two with us are dead. Everything went as Zaber planned, until¨C¡± The boy looked at his mentor¡¯s twitching grimace, stuttering. ¡°A mage. They got a mage. Zaber mowed them down without Asher, but one began to sing and¨C¡± His hands were shaking.


    ¡°Sit back; we got this from here on,¡± said Buron absentmindedly, while Breg¡¯s side-eyes hurt like knives. ¡°Shoulder is dislocated.¡± He ran his finger over every bone, down to the boots that he subsequently removed. ¡°Ankles swollen, but nothing¡¯s broken.¡±


    ¡°¨Cstop,¡± mumbled Zaber with the look of someone getting beaten.


    With a held back smile, Buron placed his hand on the unconscious man¡¯s forearm and straightened it with his other hand. ¡°Let¡¯s see if that wakes him up,¡± he said half-serious without any laughter around him. Just a raised eyebrow from the boy. With one push and an audible ¡®crack¡¯ snapped the bump on Zaber¡¯s shoulder right back.


    A grim gasp exhaled by Zaber made Torm also do so. He could have sworn that his mentor¡¯s eyes might have opened for a moment, but no reaction followed.


    ¡°Alrighty,¡± said Buron and opened his patient¡¯s eyelids one after another. ¡°Great news, his brain works. But his eyes are damned big, so he¡¯s jumbled up good.¡±


    ¡°I think he swallowed a lot of gutter,¡± noted Torm.


    The bald man held out his hand to Breg who gave him his boiled leather bottle. Opening Zaber¡¯s mouth, Buron nodded and poured water into it. Cleaning the inside with his fingers and trying to make him drink a bit.


    ¡°What about Sigur? The prisoner?¡± asked Breg, just standing there, unflinching. Unlike Torm.


    ¡°I doubt he made it.¡± It was hard to watch Buron work, so Torm¡¯s gaze became glued to the forest floor. Fresh fern, moss and dry leaves from the linden and maple trees that made up most of the peninsula that split Lake Teblen into its upper and lower halves. ¡°We busted the cage and chains; some fled. But I can¡¯t see how they got out of the city.¡±


    Breg¡¯s gaze was so painful, piercing¡­ judging. He hadn¡¯t done much since Buron took over, but there was something to this beast of a man that paralyzed Torm. The scar that ran over Breg¡¯s forehead, right into his hairline, is impossible to ignore. So was his nose, broken multiple times in the past. Even though they lived outside, he and Buron looked as if they took way more care of each other than Zaber himself did. The scrawny, bald figure kneeling over his mentor had no visible scars, but seeing Zaber on the ground, near-naked¡­ all those old wounds. Shoulders, chest, ribs, small and big. These three, and Asher, were real men. And he himself, thought Torm, wasn¡¯t even able to follow a simple order and kill that mage. He ran away, like a coward. Like a boy.


    ¡°Snap out of it,¡± barked Breg, flicking his fingers in front of Torm. Buron packed up Zaber¡¯s clothing and gambeson and Breg moved to do the same. ¡°We gotta go.¡±


    ¡°The sooner the better,¡± added the bald one, wiping the sweat off his neck. ¡°He¡¯s boiling up.¡± Buron opened a pouch on his belt and pulled out a pre-sliced strip of willow bark to place under Zaber¡¯s tongue. ¡°By the Kraken, if you choke on this, I¡¯ll have to cut your throat open.¡±


    The unreasonably tall man stroked his beard with both hands before grabbing the pre-packed saddlebags, ropes and chests to strap onto the horses. ¡°He¡¯ll make it,¡± said the colossus, more to himself than to his companions. ¡°This ain¡¯t his worst defeat.¡± For a brief moment, a strange dialect came through, unknown to Torm.


    Buron patted Zaber on his left and right cheek, making Breg¡¯s eyes widen in befuddlement. Without a word, the question of why not to slap him stood between them again. He smiled at the giant and the boy, gloomily.


    ¡°Hundred yards, that way.¡± Breg pointed into the woods and stared at Torm, who didn¡¯t react. ¡°Get your arse up; four horses. I¡¯ll carry him on mine.¡±


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    Blinking multiple times and shaking his head, Torm stood up again. Now that he was safe, he felt dizzy, but some of his vitality had returned. With nothing but a nod to show compliance, he wandered in the pointed direction. Breg and Buron were talking behind him, but his head had become mush and none of it made sense. Zaber would make it, and that was the only thing that mattered. Torm only thought about the apology he wanted to give. What words to choose and how to make up for his failure. And a promise to train harder and stop fooling around. And listen.


    The horses had been kept away from their meeting spot. It was too hard to hide them so close to the forest¡¯s edge and too many to explain if someone stumbled into them. When Torm found them, he remembered the actual number of planned survivors. Twelve rounceys, tied to a tree with a big stack of hay and most of the fresh fern around them devoured. And he had to leave most of them, five gulden each, good silver wasted.


    ¡°What am I going to do with you?¡± uttered the boy. Thinking about it for a good, long moment he tied the reins of the four he liked most together. He pointed the rest towards the fields. Raising his hand for a slap, he stopped and clenched it to a trembling fist, hitting himself against the forehead. ¡°Fff¨C¡± he whistled and closed his eyes. ¡°Almost messed up again.¡± Eight horses, saddled up, running into a field would be seen from the city walls and give away their position. But leaving them here, tied up? That would break his heart¡­ and Zaber¡¯s. He untied them and left them where they were, taking the four chosen ones with him.


    Back at the glade, Breg was filling a bag with coins from the chest and kicked it shut afterwards. ¡°Useless shitbrat,¡± said the unreasonably tall man and picked up a short spade from a package. He looked at Zaber and braced himself against the tree under which the chest was waiting to be buried. ¡°We¨C¡± He was about to continue but was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°He¡¯ll make it,¡± said Buron. ¡°As you said.¡±


    ¡°What about Ash? What if¨C¡± Once more, the giant was interrupted. This time by the warm embrace of his friend, wrapping his arms around the maille of Breg¡¯s waist from behind.


    ¡°He¡¯s gotten away. He always does,¡± said the scrawny, way smaller man to his colossal companion. His hands folded into each other on the other side and his cheek rested on the cold steel on the backside.


    Breg put his hand atop Buron¡¯s hands and leaned back. ¡°Zaber¡¯ll try again, he ain¡¯t resting for long.¡±


    Both of them remained silent, savoring the moment before the boy returned. Surrounded by nature, they felt nothing but each other and helplessness. Starlings and a woodpecker accompanied them. Only when the knocks on a tree ended did they move apart.


    ¡°There was a line magician,¡± said Buron and moved back to Zaber. ¡°That he got away is a new high; and I¡¯m sure the boy did his best too.¡±


    ¡°Why was there a line magician anyways? That blackhead special or what?¡± replied Breg, disgruntled, and began to dig. ¡°We gotta sink the rest, ain¡¯t enough horses. We can¡¯t cross the border like that.¡±


    ¡°Nah, we can¡¯t.¡± Buron kicked Zaber playfully against a part of his body that wasn¡¯t broken. ¡°He¡¯ll want to try again. Like the dunce he is.¡± He smiled and sorted more of their belongings.


    ¡°Ay, why can ya¡¯ hit him and I can¡¯t?¡± asked Breg dryly, toiling on.


    ¡°Because I¡¯m lean and you¡¯re thick as fuck,¡± replied Buron, just as dry. Both continued their work in silence, occasionally watching over Zaber. ¡°Boy really gave it his all,¡± added Buron. ¡°Please, at least try.¡±


    ¡°Fuck the boy,¡± grumbled Breg, stabbing the ground with murderous intent. Digging deeper and deeper, no root could stand in his way. ¡°Should have ditched him up north four years ago.¡±


    ¡°We should¨C¡± Buron halted and looked at the last package to stow away with tired eyes. ¡°Maybe we should have joined them. Bite the Kraken; endure it for a night or two.¡±


    Surrounded by the birds and winds, shame robbed the two veterans of their words. Focused on their tasks, the baggage was sorted and stacked neatly. Breg shoved Zaber¡¯s chest into the hole and covered it up. He spread dry leaves and replanted some fern before grabbing his seax and cleaving a cross in the tree above. When Zaber and his ward brought it over with the rest of their junk, the three old friends had a quick conversation. Unbeknownst to Torm. What to do if something went wrong and how to handle Airich¡¯s inheritance if they couldn¡¯t bring it with them. There was only so much they could carry with just four folk before slowing down. It would hinder them in the heat of battle too.


    ¡°I¡¯m back,¡± said Torm, looking back and forth between Zaber and the other two. ¡°Who takes which?¡± He held up all four leashes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the pinto.¡± Buron walked up and took over the reins, and an additional one. ¡°And the dapple for cargo and Zaber when he¡¯s recovered. He likes them light colored.¡± He gave both horses a nice rub over the muzzle before strapping bags and chests on them.


    ¡°Gimme the dark one,¡± grunted Breg and stashed away his blade. ¡°We gotta bind Zaber to me after we land east.¡± He didn¡¯t take the animal and instead knelt down to shoulder Zaber once more.


    A flaxen chestnut with white feet was left over for Torm. He didn¡¯t mind being last, the thought of how to even get on the horse was already troubling enough. It was chewing down on some low hanging leaves when Torm put his hand on its neck. He looked at Breg in sudden bewilderment. ¡°Huh? East?¡±


    ¡°Yeh, change of plan,¡± said Breg.


    ¡°Wait, no¨C¡± Torm raised his hands and walked up on the pair of veterans. ¡°We can¡¯t, Ryck is waiting south.¡±


    The scrawny one of them carried on without any reaction to the boy¡¯s complaint, but Breg had already stood up instead of lifting Zaber from the ground. The giant looked down into Torm¡¯s desperate face, standing tall, in full size. ¡°Sucks to be him.¡±


    When seeing his colossal companion act up, Buron jolted up and grabbed him by the arm. His hands were barely able to wrap around it. ¡°Hoo,¡± he said. ¡°Can you calm down?¡± His gaze wandered on and rested on Torm next. ¡°You know ol¡¯ knucklehead here, he¡¯ll not rest for long. The blackhead isn¡¯t free and chances are high they¡¯re bringing him east; either this afternoon or in the morrow.¡±


    ¡°My friend is waiting, I promise I¡¯ll¨C¡±


    ¡°We ain¡¯t giving two fucks about your friend!¡± barked Breg. His head snapped forward and brought forth strands of his long hair. The unreasonably tall man took two fast steps, forcing Torm to retreat. He looked like a doll, ready to be thrown, in comparison. If it wasn¡¯t for Buron¡¯s gentle grip, all those muscles might have rolled over the boy.


    ¡°Calm down!¡± yelled Buron. ¡°He¡¯s as stressed as we are.¡± Hands raised, he walked up between the two, placing one on Breg¡¯s chest to hold him back, staring at Torm. ¡°Listen, if we go south we can¡¯t get back on the river and have to ride around it. They¡¯ll search everywhere for us. We have to go east now, get a head start for Zaber to get on his feet again.¡± Buron turned around and looked up, placing a second hand on Breg¡¯s chest. ¡°If the Yesilian is Zaber¡¯s friend, he is our friend. Same goes for the boy,¡± he stressed to the enraged beast, whose eyes were twitching at the soft touch on his mailled chest¡­ nodding in agreement


    ¡°Your friend ain¡¯t in danger; that Sigur is,¡± said Breg in pain, turning away from Buron and Torm. ¡°Not all promises can be kept.¡±


    As he listened to these words, seeing this huge creature of a man barely holding it together, Torm couldn¡¯t help it any longer. He moved closer to Buron, trying to follow Breg. His hands trembled in anger, about to grab him. ¡°Then why the fuck didn¡¯t you help?!¡±


    Not the boy¡¯s voice but a loud ¡®smack¡¯ lit up the forest around them and the birds fled in all directions. Buron had shifted around, on instinct, holding up an open hand that had left a red mark on Torm¡¯s cheek. Not just Zaber¡¯s face was distorted from torment.


    ¡°Pack up and get your arse on that horse,¡± ordered the scrawny veteran. When he walked away, his left knee acted up for a brief moment. ¡°If you want to keep your promise, you can take one of the other boats. We¡¯ll not need it anymore.¡±

 Chapter 17 - Day Six

    Chapter 17


    Day Six ¨C Dusk


    Leading a second horse from the saddle of his own, Buron headed the group towards the shore. Followed by Breg, with Zaber leaning against his chest, the veterans set the pace. The youngest, Torm, was last and hadn¡¯t said a single word since they moved. A small temple with adjacent buildings, the convent of St. Cathedora, was ignored by them. Only a few Stella Sororum, the Star Sisters, were left in the dwindling sisterhood of laity. Their priora, a proper Aurora, lived in Teblen and only visited her tenure on the usual holy days. To hold lectures and sing to her parish. Only one elderly sister cleared some weeds from the walls of her home. The temple was overshadowed by the dual monastery on Tun Isle, the residence of the Margrave.


    ¡°Greetings,¡± waved the woman cloaked in black, many stars dotted all over her robes. ¡°Is your friend alright? Does he need help?¡±


    ¡°Thank you, dear sister,¡± replied Buron without looking at her. ¡°He just fell from his horse. Not the first time.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a klutz,¡± added Breg and patted Zaber¡¯s on the chest.


    Torm, the only one smiling at her, nodded gratefully. The older men, living in the wilds, knew that the sisters tended to their garden and scriptures all day. Rarely did they leave the convent. The two hamlets were responsible for their physical well-being and their spiritual well-being was cared for in return. Thus, Buron and Breg knew that nobody would look around the temple, close to Lake Teblen. This woman or any fishermen that might see them didn¡¯t matter; it was too late to report them back to the city. Two very long river ferries, rented from Teblau and Stelitz, awaited them between the shrubbery. Exhausted, Torm struggled to lift the nine yards long boat. Seeing how Breg flipped the other one around without help made the boy gulp. He ceased his own attempt, as the second ferry wasn¡¯t needed. When forced to choose between Zaber and even the slightest chance of saving Sagir, Ryck stood no chance. But deep inside him, Torm made a vow to return and make up for it.


    They had planned for thrice the horses. Now there was way more space and additional oars got left behind. Buron and Breg took over the rowing after balancing everything out.


    ¡°You made the right choice,¡± said Buron and smiled at Torm. ¡°Keep him company. We¡¯ll row until dark.¡±


    With a meek nod, the boy sat down and looked at the water and his mentor, back and forth. Still covered in gutter, the run-down veteran had finally calmed down. Never had Torm seen Zaber sleep for so long without interruption. But he hasn¡¯t seen him hurt or sick like this either¡­


    Buron was sweating soon after they steered the ferry across the lake, regularly taking a sip from his waterskin. His colossal companion, though, could have done it on his own if his arms were long enough to grab both paddles.


    ¡°Shh¨C¡± hissed the scrawny veteran and rubbed his left knee.


    ¡°Same as always?¡± asked Breg, concerned.


    ¡°The usual,¡± nodded Buron and shook his leg out. ¡°Sun¡¯s down soon. I can see the marshes, let¡¯s land and make camp.¡± He pointed forward to a suitable part of solid soil between its boggy surroundings. Many alders and willows grew from the moist earth. Plenty cover and the bald man knew that there were no settlements near-by, nor was it a hunting area.


    Even with whatever Buron had going with his knee, the veterans acted smoothly. They landed without a flaw and began to unpack. Torm didn¡¯t spend much time with them since they arrived in Teblen. These two decided to stay outside and met with Asher and Zaber every couple of moons. After the mentor and his apprentice had settled in, Torm stopped accompanying them. But he remembered how inspiring they were when he first met Zaber. Especially in a moment like this. Of the quartet, Buron and Breg had to be most in shape, as they were living off escort jobs. Always complaining about merchants and other richfolk. Posted in the hamlets around Teblen, staying in inns when the winter became too severe. The boy found all four of them odd in their own way, but they were undoubtedly strong. And yet, Asher¡­


    ¡°Wake up,¡± said Buron while Breg grabbed Zaber. ¡°Ferry can¡¯t stay, it¡¯ll give us away.¡±


    After everyone got on the peat, the unreasonably tall man pushed the boat away into Lake Teblen and threw the oars away. Buron had already picked up his crossbow and gave his colossal companion the polearm. Seeing them handle all of this with such ease, the same thought that got Torm slapped previously intruded his mind again. He had to shake it off; what happened, happened. And if the other one slapped him, he could not simply turn his head.


    ¡°Psht.¡± Buron¡¯s voice demanded a quiet attention. ¡°Over there,¡± he whispered and pointed Breg¡¯s gaze ahead in the dark.


    ¡°Hrmph,¡± grunted Breg and lowered his stance, as did the bald one. ¡°Boars or bears?¡±


    The scrawny veteran¡¯s nose twitched and he closed his eyes to take a sniff. ¡°Neither,¡± he said and moved further away, Breg following him closely. ¡°Fire.¡± Almost forgetting, Buron turned around and looked at Torm. ¡°We¡¯ll scout ahead, you stay with sleepyhead.¡±


    ¡°No kissing before dark,¡± added Breg and his and Buron¡¯s eyes met for a brief moment. A faint smile flared up before they moved on.


    Not only did he feel like shit, Torm also felt mocked. Being alone with these two had been awful, on top of this day being the second worst day of his life. He was furious, again, but his last outburst made him learn the harsh lesson that they weren¡¯t doing well either. This wasn¡¯t fair. Looking at Zaber, he pressed his lips against each other and closed his eyes so hard that they teared up. Falling to his knees, he hugged his mentor angrily.


    ¡°Wake up, please,¡± uttered the boy.


    ¡°¨Cmy onl¨C¡± replied Zaber, as if he was about to cry too. Senseless, without any tears. ¡°¨Cfrien¨C¡±


    ¡°Man, fuck you,¡± laughed Torm when he heard the drivel.


    The sky was clear and the stars shone down on them. This was the first time in four years that Torm has seen them as beautiful as they were. A reminder that the Bear was ruling them from above. Strength, calm, vigilance, affection and restoration, but also wrath. It¡¯s not like they could have chosen, but maybe this wasn¡¯t the best Constellation for their undertaking. Breg was birthed under Bear, his namegiving coming up soon. And it was only in the middle, the thirteenth. Just a couple of days ago, Torm was still making plans for his eighteenth and now he had betrayed Kell and left everyone behind he knew or liked. But looking at Zaber, again, even with Breg being such a jerk¡­ this was the right choice.


    Time flew by before Buron and Breg reappeared out of nowhere and startled Torm. Regardless of the heavy armor, and his size, this beast of a man was impossible to see if one wasn¡¯t looking out for him.


    ¡°Tracks aren¡¯t human, but on two legs,¡± whispered Buron and checked on Zaber.


    ¡°A bear after all?¡± Torm got up on his feet and imitated the crouched former mercenaries.


    The scrawny man walked towards the horses and took all four reins. ¡°Possible,¡± he said. ¡°Fire¡¯s a little hut with two women inside; so a man has to be somewhere around.¡±


    ¡°We gotta move quick; leave the horses and baggage behind,¡± said Breg and placed the bardiche next to the rest of their belongings. He drew his seax instead and looked demanding at Torm¡¯s blade.


    ¡°Wha¨C¡± Torm halted and gulped once more. ¡°What are we going to do to them?¡±


    ¡°Get good shelter and food.¡± The unreasonably tall man¡¯s grizzled voice didn¡¯t sound pleasant.


    Torm recognized the darkness in Breg¡¯s face. ¡°Are they armed?¡±


    ¡°Unknown,¡± said Buron and cocked his crossbow with a goat¡¯s foot. ¡°You¡¯ll detain them, I¡¯ll keep them in check. Breg takes Zaber; to show him to them and then you have to explain we¡¯re not here to hurt anyone.¡±


    ¡°Why me?¡± Overwhelmed, Torm drew the lange messer, unsure about what he was actually doing here. ¡°I¨C¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s strong and I¡¯ve got this three-hundred-pounder here.¡± The scrawny veteran put away his reloading tool and didn¡¯t take any more bolts with him. He smiled and winked at the boy afterwards. ¡°Also: You look and sound the nicest.¡±


    ¡°You gotta make sure that we don¡¯t wanna hurt them, but we could,¡± added Breg.


    ¡°So we¡¯re going to raid their home?¡± Torm ran his hand through his grimed up hair. ¡°Out of nowhere?¡±


    In unison, Breg and Buron replied, ¡°Yes,¡± and nodded. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we got this,¡± said Buron after a pause and the two veterans prepared to move out.


    ¡°Fellas!¡± hissed Torm, trying to hold them back. ¡°I don¡¯t think Zaber would agree with this. By the Stars, can we slow down and¨C¡±


    Both men stopped and turned around. Buron gasped and Breg built himself up once more. ¡°Listen, boy,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ve got no idea what he¡¯s capable of¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ and willing to do,¡± finished Buron and waved to get going. ¡°Now man up and do as ordered.¡±


    ¡°¨Cst¡­ p bleed¨Cn¡­¡± murmured Zaber, desperate.


    Fixated on Zaber, Torm sighed. ¡°Fine,¡± he replied, but didn¡¯t look up. ¡°Man, I wish I knew what¡¯s going on with you.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t get it,¡± said Breg and knelt back down to pick his old friend up. ¡°And you don¡¯t wanna.¡±


    When everyone was ready to go, Buron placed a hand on Torm¡¯s shoulder. He stared at him and pushed a rope into the boy¡¯s hands. ¡°He would do nothing less for me,¡± he said. ¡°Or handsome over here, or Ash.¡± Not waiting for a reaction from the gloomy boy, he turned around and ended with, ¡°Or you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just¨C¡± Torm thought about what got them into this mess. Him not finishing off that mage, while Zaber murdered those patricians without doubt. How they were already going for Sagir, to keep his word to Ceyhan and Hanifa. ¡°Yes, he would,¡± uttered the boy. ¡°But only to bad folk¨C¡±


    ¡°Living alone in the wilds means you¡¯re hiding something,¡± said Breg, spiteful, and stepped away. ¡°We gotta see how innocent they are.¡±


    ¡­


    A melody made of two beautiful voices came to an end, cooking supper together. The song still resonated with their surroundings and in the younger one¡¯s head. She was still humming while dipping a wooden spoon into broth. In her mid-twenties, she wore her otherwise rugged brown hair tamed with a bone barrette. The other woman, twice her age, wore her hair in one long braid, bound with flowers. Their kirtles had no sleeves, patched together from animal hides, made from flax. With only light undergarments peeking out, their shoulders and arms lay open, held up only by thin straps. The nights hadn¡¯t reached the warmth of the day yet, but their little home was unusually warm. The pair was well-fed, plump and healthy. The spitting image of each other, if it weren¡¯t for the older one¡¯s age showing in her hair and around her eyes and mouth. And a gaping scar along her neck, with old burns painting her entire hands red, up to her elbows.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Fawn,¡± said the older woman and spit out a trout¡¯s bone. The strong smell of chowder filled the hut. ¡°Have you finished ¡®Ohra and the Old Croaker¡¯?¡± Her lowered voice was pleasant and filled with warmth.


    ¡°No, mother,¡± replied the younger woman, joyful. ¡°I caught a mouse in the flour and gave her a stern speech,¡± she smiled, her voice playfully rising and falling between octaves. ¡°Until she peed on my hand and I had to wash it off.¡±


    ¡°Hurry!¡± The mother laughed in-between spoonfuls of soup. ¡°I love the ending, the Old Croaker has the most amazing transformation.¡± She clapped twice, unable to contain her excitement.


    ¡°Mother! No spoilers,¡± replied the daughter and spilled some on her lap.


    Their modest home consisted of one large, round room. Built from sticks and stones, mortared and hammered together with moss and greenery. Above an open hearth hung a cast iron pot, left and right were sleeping alcoves, separated from each other. A makeshift wooden table and sitting stumps with felt cushioning were next to a window. The remains of rodents, deer, fish and birds were scattered all around them. Some had been carved into art and jewelry that both women were wearing. Some had become part of the furniture and decor. The floor and walls were plastered with pelts and fur and feathers. But most remarkable were the dozens of leather bound books that lay around. Peppered between clay pots of all sizes and small glass containers.


    In contrast to the messy interior, the outside was nearly idyllic. Raised beds for herbs, flowers, onions and leek, incorporated into the stone walls, right under the wooden windows. A chopping block for the stacks of firewood, under a canopy. And nesting boxes hung around the roof and nearby trees. Neither of the women had the working strength of a peasant, but a life under these conditions was harsh enough. It was their home, made and maintained by them. They''d never expect what was waiting for them outside¡­


    Veiled in darkness, no tingling of maille gave the approaching rouges away. Buron raised his fist as a sign to hold, but Torm did not notice it. Gone were the many lessons that Zaber drilled into him over the past few days. He had to be held back from walking further, much to Breg¡¯s annoyance. They hid behind scrubs, close enough to be in charging range. The scrawny veteran pointed at the door and mimicked a kick at the youngest among them. Crossbow raised, a couple more signs followed that tried to picture their entrance.


    Torm and Buron moved first. The unreasonably tall man was the only one not rushing, as he was carrying Zaber. There was no knob, only a loose latch to keep away animals. It broke easily and the door burst open. The two smaller men swarmed in, while Breg stayed outside. This door was not made for a man of his size, especially with another man over his shoulders.


    Two surprised screams rang through the forest. The younger woman threw away her spoon and nearly fell from her seat, while her mother gave a deathly inhale and grabbed her chest. Torm held out the lange messer of his mentor and Buron raised his crossbow. With a looming giant in the background, only half his face and parts of Zaber¡¯s body visible, chaos broke out.


    ¡°Hands up!¡± yelled the wiry bald man. ¡°Do what we say and nobody gets hurt!¡±


    The daughter did as told, but the mother held her spoon and knife firmly grabbed. Gaze resting on the weapons, her burned hands trembled.


    ¡°Please, misses,¡± said Torm and lowered his blade ever so slightly.


    ¡°Ar¨C¡± the young woman stumbled over her own words. ¡°What are you, villains?¡± Her chest was quivering as she tried to reach as high as possible.


    ¡°Not what; who are you?¡± interjected the mother. Her initial surprise had already faded away. She slowly lowered the cutlery before also raising her hands, just as sluggish.


    ¡°Tie them up,¡± ordered Buron and also lowered his crossbow after pointing at the rope.


    ¡°Answer me,¡± ordered the mother back. ¡°This is my home, at least tell me who you are.¡± Her voice was steady, more curious than fearful.


    ¡°Misses, I¡¯m very sorry about this, but¨C¡± Torm walked in front of her and her daughter, holding up the rope with one hand. He reeked of dry sewage, his boots and legs were still wet. No matter how much he tried to fix it, his hair was still a mess and his face wasn¡¯t doing much better. He thought about the hardened veterans behind him and how small and weak he must have looked to these women. Like a lowly goon, nothing but criminal scum. The opposite of what he aspired to be.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a misses,¡± said the mother in her beautiful, lyric contralto and spread her fingers above her head. She clapped twice¡­ to start a rhythm. ¡°Hauzija miz, hauzija miz, hit is¨C¡±


    Buron¡¯s and Breg¡¯s eyes widened, unable to react themselves, as Torm blocked the line of fire.


    ¡°Shut her up!¡± yelled Buron.


    ¡°Kill her!¡± yelled Breg.


    ¡°NOW!¡± they yelled in unison.


    Overwhelmed, Torm¡¯s eyes met those of the daughter. He was confused, but she was terrified. The bald man behind him bumped into the boy, trying to push him to the side. Torm recognized the melody too late and his frustration brimmed over, letting go of the rope and sword. He couldn¡¯t do this again, he had enough of it¡­


    ¡°Shut up!¡± he screamed. ¡°Everyone calm the fuck down!¡± He shifted in front of Buron, not budging to his attempt at forcing himself closer to the woman. His fists were clenched, but resisted to use them. ¡°Listen to me!¡±


    The mother hummed on, sung a few more words, but the hands of her daughter made her stop. She stared up at the boy and the bald man. Shifted back and forth between them and the giant in the back. Something inside the youngest eyes spoke to her.


    ¡°This man over there¨C¡± Torm turned around and pointed at Zaber. ¡°He needs help. He is badly hurt and needs a place to stay, nothing more.¡± His shoulders hung low and so did his voice. Looking at Breg and Buron, pleading with them in silence, he confronted the women once more. ¡°Please, he¡¯s all I have.¡±


    It was Buron who tossed aside the bolt of his crossbow first. Breg tried to do the same while holding Zaber like a yoke.


    It took some thinking before the older woman replied. ¡°Leave your weapon at the door,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ll hide you. Turn against us and I¡¯ll raise my voice against you.¡± Mustering the men, she looked at her daughter last and nodded so they would lower their hands.


    Buron uncocked the crossbow first, drawing attention towards himself with a ¡®thwang¡¯ and ¡®clack¡¯. ¡°We don¡¯t talk about you, you don¡¯t talk about us. Promise,¡± he said and walked to the door to place his weapons next to it.


    The boy collapsed onto his knees and clutched his chest. Emptying his lungs, his hazy blue eyes met the hazel eyes of the daughter. Seeing her terror give way for sympathy made him calm down, trying to fix his hair again.


    ¡°I¨C¡± Torm gasped and nodded at the women. ¡°I¡¯m Torm.¡±


    ¡°I am Thyra,¡± said the daughter. ¡°You don¡¯t look so good. Are you sure only he needs help?¡± She looked at Zaber, handled by Breg, and hesitantly came closer.


    ¡°And I am Tonna.¡± The mother stood up and met the unreasonably tall man at the door frame he barely fit through¡­ with the package he brought. She took a look at Zaber, next to Buron. ¡°You are way too young to be with these ruffians, Torm,¡± she said. ¡°Put him over there, on the hides.¡±


    Tonna found her composure unusually quick. She directed these veterans around the hut and checked on the unconscious man in a similar way Buron had. Her daughter though, Thyra, stared at their visitors. She was only a couple of years younger than the former mercenaries. The sight of a half-naked man and someone she could only describe as a giant, was plenty for the evening. They just wanted to have supper and talk stories¡­


    ¡°What is up with his face?¡± asked Thyra, peeking over her mother¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Ghosts,¡± said Breg, stoically watching over his friend from the background.


    Turning around with kind eyes, Tonna smiled at her daughter. ¡°May you please make a fire for the tub, Fawn?¡± When her eyes wandered over to the intruders, her voice and face lost that kindness. ¡°You stink. You have to bathe if you want to stay,¡± she said and ran her fingers through Zaber¡¯s hair and smelled it. ¡°Foremost, this one.¡±


    Zaber hadn¡¯t spoken in a while, but his teeth were grinding. Placed gently on a pile of hides and fur, his shoulder had turned blue.


    ¡°We got horses and baggage,¡± said Breg and turned around to leave. His bald companion followed after he saw how Tonna handled their friend. He only looked back once. ¡°Lakeside, not far.¡±


    ¡°Horses?¡± Thyra¡¯s eyes brightened while she was also leaving to prepare the baths. ¡°Can I¨C¡± She halted, ignored by the men.


    ¡°Well, get them. I¡¯ll take care of your friend,¡± replied Tonna, without looking back.


    Reluctant to pass Buron and Breg, Thyra had fallen silent. She noticed how neither of them had looked her or her mother into the eyes. Only the tired boy had dared to do so. ¡°Should I get water when the fire¡¯s done?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Tonna. ¡°After that show, they can work for our hospitality. Bring a couple more onions and some herbs though. Our guests have to eat as well.¡± Putting a hand on Torm¡¯s shoulder, she smiled for him.


    The young woman was invigorated by the word ¡®guests¡¯. A joyful whistle played through the marshes, dampened by a shutting door¡­ as well as it was still able to.


    Torm waddled over to Zaber, on his knees, and sat down cross-legged to watch Tonna. He tried to smile back but couldn''t keep it up for long because of the shame he felt. Nothing he had done today filled him with pride and it robbed him of his senses. Or maybe he was too tired¡­


    ¡°Tell me, Torm¨C¡± The older woman inspected the broken veteran¡¯s shoulder and every scar she found. She pulled open his waistband, taking a peek at his privates, and let it snap back without a change of expression. ¡°What happened to make you ambush defenseless, weak women in the woods?¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± whimpered Torm. ¡°I mean¨C¡­ thanks?¡± He stumbled over his words, leaning back against the cobbled together walls of the small room. ¡°I¨C, I¡¯m not sure¨C¡±


    ¡°Spit it out, your friends know what me and Thyra are.¡± Her hand rested on Zaber¡¯s forehead, feeling the warmth. ¡°It¡¯s only fair that I have something against you too.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, they know¨C¡±


    ¡°Evil witches,¡± interrupted the woman. ¡°We curse men in their sleep, spit poison and eat children.¡± She smiled at Zaber¡¯s face distorting at the right moment. ¡°Don¡¯t try to distract. Tell me.¡±


    The boy took some time to think about the day, get his story straight, and focus on what mattered. ¡°We¡¯re from Teblen, west of the lake,¡± said Torm and got a knowing nod from Tonna. ¡°A friend of ours is going to jail in some mining camp. We tried to bust him out and failed. No, we¡¯re on the run. But we¡¯ll only stay until he¨C¡± The apprentice leaned forward and looked into his mentor¡¯s face. ¡°Until we can try again.¡±


    Cleaning Zaber¡¯s face with her fingers, Tonna pulled out the piece of bark from under his tongue. She casually wiped off the strings of spit on her skirt. Zaber looked angry afterwards. ¡°Good that you put that there, he¡¯s got quite the fever.¡± On the table that Tonna¡¯s and Thyra¡¯s chowder was waiting for them, the woman got two small glass vials, well sealed, without any label on it. One a reddish-brown tincture, the other a clear oil. ¡°Your story does not explain why you two are covered in shit. And¡­ did he jump down a house or the city walls?¡±


    ¡°Ooph¨C¡± Torm exhaled. ¡°This is¡­ complicated,¡± he said. ¡°Buron¨C¡± He gesticulated around his head. ¡°The bald fella gave him the bark. He¡¯s kinda good with this stuff.¡± Another look at the weapons at the door followed, then back to their dinner table and then at the vials next to Zaber. ¡°His name is Zaber. He came up with an escape route through the sewers. So when everything went down the shitter, I jumped down the shitter.¡± Thinking got hard and Torm needed to pause. ¡°He got thrown around by¨C¡± He rubbed his eyes. ¡°They call it a line magician. Like y¨C¡±


    ¡°I am not like that.¡± Tonna did not let the boy insult her. ¡°A war chanter was guarding your friend? What¨C¡± She stopped. ¡°You know what? I do not need to know the details. Your brother needs rest, so my daughter and I will sing him onto his feet. The moment he can walk, I¡¯m kicking you out.¡±


    Before Torm¡¯s head could come up with an answer, the door opened and Thyra entered with a couple of onions and some thyme and a bucket of water. ¡°He¡¯s your brother?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Torm shook his head. ¡°No, he¡¯s¨C¡± He inhaled as long as he exhaled before. ¡°This day is way too long.¡±


    Thyra wiped bark and ash off her patched together dress. ¡°Sure, sit down and eat some of mine,¡± she said and smiled invitingly.


    ¡°No. Later. Maybe,¡± babbled Torm. ¡°I¡¯m like his student. Apprentice maybe? He¡¯s teaching me¨C¡± He looked through the room. ¡°Things. Do you have a privy? I think I¡¯ve swallowed some gutter too, and¨C¡±


    Thyra and Tonna looked at each other and suppressed laughter. ¡°Around the house, there¡¯s a spade right next to it,¡± said Thyra and made room for him to leave.


    With a tired nod and a hand running over his own face, Torm got up and found a quiet space to collect himself before Buron and Breg came back. He left Zaber back with the women, hesitating for the length of a blink.


    Picking up the spoon she flung across the room, Thyra sat down again and looked at her mother. How she tended to the stranger. ¡°What are we going to do now?¡±


    ¡°They were about to kill us, Fawn,¡± said Tonna. ¡°Don¡¯t be nice to them; do not trust them. I know this is¡­ hmmm.¡± She was very careful when speaking to her daughter, thinking and choosing her words wisely. ¡°This is your first taste, but believe me when I tell you that everything about them screams bloody murder.¡±


    ¡°Even the boy?¡± Thyra¡¯s voice pitched up, enjoying her food. ¡°Maybe¨C¡±, she said between chewing. ¡°Maybe they¡¯re like The Hanging Forest Hoodlums, or the Brigands of the Breck.¡±


    Tonna placed a wet piece of cloth from the bucket on Zaber¡¯s forehead. ¡°Nobody¡¯s like that, Fawn,¡± she replied and smiled gloomy at Thyra. ¡°But yes, the boy isn¡¯t a threat.¡±


    Seeing her mother like that, Thyra stood up and sat down next to her; still savoring the soup. The young woman held a spoon full in front of Tonna¡¯s mouth, which she ate, and nestled up to her. ¡°What¡¯s he dreaming about?¡± She looked at Zaber¡¯s worsening grimace.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± muttered Tonna and embraced Thyra afterwards. ¡°Ghosts, probably.¡±

 Chapter 18 - Day Six

    Chapter 18


    Day Six ¨C Night


    ¡°Pikes up!¡± yelled a stout but strong man in a chipped breastplate. ¡°Faster! Faster!¡± he repeated, as the new recruits were lagging behind. They carried blunt poles and were still wearing their old peasant attire. The slowest of them got hit by a stick over and over again, while their sergeant continued screaming. ¡°You sorry bunch, when I say something, it is an order. What did I tell y¡¯all a soldier does when he gets an order?!¡±


    ¡°He does as told!¡± rang their voices in unison.


    The village was under the rule of a liege whom Zaber wasn¡¯t able to remember anymore. He called him Nose Lord in his mind, a nobleman blessed with a sudden inrush of coin. Zaber only pictured him as a giant nose instead of a full face. The man allowed these soldiers to take up quarters around the settlements of the great city of Collam, as they were on their way to the next battlefield. Not all common men and women were glad to see them around after their last campaign. But what say do they have in this matter? The winters had become colder and colder and they would do what it took to keep going. Though for the boys and girls of the village, it had been a great time. At least for Zaber it was. If it wasn¡¯t for that Lossa or Jossa woman or whatever her name was, dragging him back home.


    ¡°Lonya,¡± she yelled and knocked and yelled some more. ¡°Lonya, do you know what your son did to my boy?¡±


    All of them were inside, a dark and unrecognizable place without any furniture or light. Zaber clearly remembered that they had animals. But not what they were, or how their door looked. The mother that wasn¡¯t his own barely had any features either.


    ¡°Please¨C¡± Lonya sighed. ¡°What is it? Same as always?¡± She sat at a table and shredded cabbage with Zaber¡¯s grandmother. Her hair was long, and stunning, and the same as her son¡¯s. The same eyes as well, including the hidden mole inside their brows.


    ¡°He broke Bram¡¯s finger,¡± said the unknown woman. She wasn¡¯t touching the boy of six anymore. Her voice was still there, but came from the shadows.


    ¡°I don¡¯t¨C¡± said Zaber.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± interrupted his own mother, while his grandmother was staring him down. ¡°He ain¡¯t going to cause trouble for long anymore¡­¡±


    To Zaber, Lonya¡¯s voice had become more and more distant, unsure if that was how she sounded. The dark room swallowed them up and left nothing but a cold hurt in the boy¡¯s chest. When he opened his eyes again, startled by the sound of drilling pikemen, he and the other kids were being led through the camp. There was so much to discover, so many exciting things to see. Grizzled soldiers, shining armor, dogs and horses. A bare-chested smith next to a bare-chested woman. And many other children that helped and worked and played. He may have been the youngest, but he wasn¡¯t alone. Many more like him were here, older but not old enough yet. And there was that man that had laughed so loud when Zaber wrestled his older brother back in the village and when he kicked the neighbor¡¯s boy in the nards. He, the general, took a liking to him. Nobody ever did that back in the village.


    ¡°Stop staring,¡± said the sergeant who showed them around, and smacked the oldest boy among them over the head. A gnarly man in good gambeson, tall and with teeth of gold. His skin told the story of many battles and his voice burned itself into the back of the kids¡¯ heads. ¡°Y¡¯all ain¡¯t ready for the drill. It¡¯s rear guard for y¡¯all.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Serg¨C¡± said the oldest boy and got another smack.


    ¡°Soldier ain¡¯t sorry!¡± Spit sprinkled from between the golden teeth. ¡°He asks how to do better,¡± said the sergeant and walked up and down in front of them. ¡°This¡¯ y¡¯all first day. You¡¯ll learn how to form a line, stand right, walk right and talk right.¡± He looked around the crowd of children who hadn¡¯t reached manhood yet, impatiently, until he clapped twice. ¡°Form a line! Oldest to youngest, then tell me y¡¯alls names. Roll call!¡±


    It took a while before the oldest spoke. ¡°Yann!¡±


    ¡°Vhal!¡± yelled another one, in-between those that Zaber had forgotten.


    ¡°Reon!¡± was the last before it was the youngest¡¯s turn. They had to figure out each other¡¯s birthstars to make this work.


    ¡°Zaber!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sergeant Brenz of the second banner of the first regiment of our Honourable Grand General.¡± His voice was sizzling, but loud and unmistakable. Flanked by two faceless men, he continued, ¡°And these are my corporals. We¡¯ll teach y¡¯all what it means to be good soldiers!¡±


    Zaber had been very proud of himself for getting it right. However, now that Brenz stood behind him, months later, everything was different. Half the boys weren¡¯t capable and got their punishment for insubordination. But Zaber was special, so he would get it even worse if he failed.


    ¡°This is an order,¡± said Brenz and grabbed the boy by the neck. His voice had gotten louder and he pointed Zaber¡¯s face at the bound and gagged men in front of the recruits. Prisoners of war from Gal¨¢zion and local criminals, some already bleeding. ¡°General Airich will be pissed if you ain¡¯t following.¡±


    ¡°Please, I¨C¡± uttered Zaber and looked at the knife in his hands, and his beaten comrades. Yann, the oldest of them, did as told and nodded at Zaber with a pale face. The man in front of him, unable to speak, had his eyes widened. He was pleading and Zaber could hear it. ¡°No. I ain¡¯t¨C¡±


    ¡°If you do it now, it¡¯ll be easier when it counts,¡± said Brenz and grabbed Zaber¡¯s wrist. ¡°I told you, this is an order.¡± He was bigger and stronger than a mere boy of seven. There was nothing to do against him pushing and guiding Zaber forward, pressing down on his neck. ¡°Kill him,¡± sizzled Brenz.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t doing it,¡± cried Zaber, unable to move.


    ¡°Kill him,¡± said the voice. ¡°Kill him.¡±


    Struggling for breath, Zaber stabbed the man over and over again. The neck, the belly, the chest, over and over. His victim¡¯s eyes cried for help until they didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Kill him,¡± said the voice.


    ¡°Kill him.¡±


    ¡°Do as ordered,¡± said an officer in a light baritone. ¡°Address him as My General or Honourable General.¡± Wearing a green arming coat and a feathered hat, the man had an old and young face at the same time. His sword bore a crimson coat of arms with three white gauntlets on it. Beneath that lay the imperial griffon, the green colors of the first regiment with the first¡¯s numeral on it and the slain head of a female monstrosity. At the very bottom was the same coat of arms as the top one, but with an added sword made from lightning. ¡°You¡¯ll tend to his horses, run his errands, serve his food and prepare his arms until he finds another squire; understood, farm boy?¡±


    ¡°U¨C, understood,¡± said Zaber, still shocked from the blood on his hands¡­ that was now gone.


    ¡°That means ¡®Yessir¡¯!¡± The officer smacked Zaber in the face, making the whole world black out.


    Punched in the face, Zaber raised his arms in front of him. Taken to the ground, wearing maille and a skullcap, an imposing figure in full plate mounted him. Dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes with an imposing mustache. The nobleman that pummeled the boy into the ground showed no smile. Zaber tried to grab his gauntlets or shake him off, but it was futile. ¡°Stop¨C¡± he said, defeated. ¡°Please, I got it. I¡¯m y¨C¡±


    ¡°I do not raise weak men, boy,¡± said Airich in the deepest and most profound bass. They were alone in an empty field, surrounded by nothing. The general pressed down on his orderly¡¯s throat, showing no mercy to the preadolescent boy. ¡°There is no yielding on a battlefield.¡±


    ¡°Airich, please,¡± whispered the boy, as he looked up. Surrounded by the noblemen¡¯s horses and hay, young Zaber sat on the floor, with his back against a wall. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to¨C¡± He tried to retreat further back, but couldn¡¯t


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°You did so well until now,¡± said Airich. He wore a well-tailored red doublet and a leather chaperon. Simple yet elegant, bringing forth his imposing figure, accompanied by a bass that was able to penetrate as deep as bone and marrow. ¡°Your mother told me you knew how to handle animals. And you still fucked up.¡±


    ¡°Sorr¨C¡± Zaber halted. ¡°H¨C, How can I do better?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Airich also halted and a smile flashed through his mustache. ¡°So you were listening to the sergeants and corporals. Good.¡± He stepped in front of Zaber, sturdy riding boots shining right in front of the kid¡¯s face. The general¡¯s hand flicked forward, quick and strong, slapping Zaber to the side. ¡°I¡¯ll let you off lightly, this time.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± said the boy and swallowed the pain. His face was sprinkled with hay and close to the horses¡¯ droppings when he looked up again. ¡°Thank you, my General.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll spend the night here and think about what you did wrong.¡± Airich turned around and walked out. ¡°I¡¯ll have my breakfast before the rooster calls. You should have a sense for it, shouldn¡¯t you?¡± He laughed. Even his back seemed threatening¡­


    ¡°Kill him,¡± heard Zaber. ¡°Kill him.¡±


    The horses had never treated him ill. The destriers weren¡¯t nice animals, but none of them ever bit Zaber. He sometimes snuck some extra bread or greenery with him into the stables or fenced-in areas, to make sure all of them liked him. Those for daily use, the rounceys, were easier to handle and clean up around. No threat of getting kicked in the head. Zaber even had the opportunity to sit on them every once in a while, when nobody else was around. This felt way better than the village¡¯s donkeys, even though Buckeye, Walnut and St. Agastria had been great. The rest of the new bunch, too young to be proper recruits yet, were doing chores for the soldiers and helped the camp followers. With everything happening, spending more time with the other boys would have been fun. Soon they would go on campaign again. The sergeant had told them that they would help behind the lines and accompany the older and less able soldiers on supply runs and¡­


    The hay caught fire, and soon Zaber was old enough to go marauding. The houses around them, the trees, everything were set ablaze. With his hands pressed down, painted red, the young soldier looked at them. His knees were sinking into a puddle of blood, with a faceless adult lying dead next to them.


    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± pleaded Zaber. ¡°Stay with me.¡± He stared right at Yann, but nobody stared back. ¡°Stop bleeding. You can¡¯t do this to me.¡±


    Some of the horses were hurt too, but it was Zaber¡¯s duty to take care of them. The young boy himself wasn¡¯t doing too bad, only a couple of scratches and a swollen eye from the drills. No good soldier was left unscarred; it was a mark of honor to most of them. To survive the impossible. But first, Zaber needed to take a look at Airich¡¯s destrier. See if he was doing fine. He, Patina, was the greatest warhorse among them. White, with a taint of gray spots here and there, strong and unstoppable. A beautiful sight, in and outside of battle. Zaber knew this horse better than anybody else, even his owner. If Patina ever got his legs hurt¡­ no. This was impossible. Patina was an invincible steed.


    ¡°Yann,¡± whispered Zaber when he placed his bloody hands on the older boy¡¯s face. Just a couple of Constellations more and he would have been old enough for formation. They¡¯ve drilled together already, they were doing good. ¡°Please.¡±


    Gladly, Patina was unharmed, the perfect beast he was. Zaber placed his bloody hands around the horse¡¯s muzzle and scratched him where he liked it. The boy inspected the inside of Patina¡¯s mouth, where the bits for the destriers poked them to provoke them. To drive them into battle, stomp and bite their enemies and be good little soldiers. Happy to see Patina alright, Zaber laid his forehead on the horse¡¯s snout.


    ¡°Please Yann, I can¡¯t do this alone,¡± whispered Zaber, desperately.


    ¡°We¡¯ll stay together, forever,¡± said Zaber to Patina and closed his eyes.


    ¡°Friends ain¡¯t leave each other behind, man,¡± said Zaber to Yann and let go of his face, slumping down.


    ¡°Please, you¡¯re my best friend,¡± said Zaber, fully tinned, looking at Asher¡¯s lifeless body.


    ¡°You¡¯re my only friend¡­¡± repeated Zaber to Patina and got his face licked clean from the blood.


    A burning sensation spread through the boy-veteran¡¯s body, into his head and neck. Like an iron grip that strangled him. He heard the sizzling, when he turned his head away from Yann, Asher and Patina, looking directly at the faceless soldiers that did this. Beotold, Airich, all of them¡­


    ¡°Kill them,¡± said the voice, and a soothing melody played in the background, drowned out by a burning sensation. Zaber¡¯s neck, head and chest ached. As if poked by needles. He clenched his fist and reached out for them, huffing in rage. ¡°Kill them, I said,¡± repeated the voice. ¡°Like a good soldier does.¡±


    ¡°Let go of her!¡± Torm held onto Zaber¡¯s wrist. ¡°Listen to me, Zaber!¡±


    All noises and voices were blended together and Zaber felt his grip around furs or hides loosen. He was drenched in sweat, and his lungs felt heavy and restrained. He gasped for air when the world became real again. The first thing he saw was a scared and overwhelmed face, close to tears.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t mean to, he can¡¯t¨C¡± said Torm and lowered Zaber¡¯s fist for him. ¡°Give him a moment.¡± The boy tried to put his other hand on Thyra¡¯s shoulder, but that only made her flinch.


    ¡°Is he deaf?¡± asked the rugged woman after taking a deep breath. She wasn¡¯t hurt and her clothes were sturdy. But she kept her distance.


    ¡°I swear, he¡¯ll be with us soon,¡± pleaded Torm. ¡°This is normal.¡±


    ¡°Normal?¡± asked Thyra, blinking repeatedly. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen a lot, but I am sure this is not normal.¡±


    His senses returned to Zaber the longer he was awake. A foul taste was in his mouth, and they took off all his clothes. Just a fur blanket that kept him warm on this mild night. The heat was unbearable though. And he stank. The veteran looked around himself, probing for any danger around him. Another woman, sleeping across the room, the boy, and the one in front of him. He recognized her sharp mezzo and felt threatened by it, but her gray eyes were kind. The likes who weren¡¯t able to stand his stare for even a second. Now that he was awake, Zaber knew what he had done. And he remembered where all that pain he felt came from. Memories of his dream and memories of the ambush became separated and he saw the woods out the window and the chaotic mess around him made sense.


    The door opened out of nowhere and two naked, steaming men looked down at him, dripping onto the hides. Stabs and slashes across their bodies, one wiry, and the other one thick with muscles and a strong core. A scar along Buron¡¯s left knee stood out even among these three. This familiar sight brought Zaber back, finally, and his eyebrows rose.


    ¡°You motherfuckers,¡± he said with a smile. ¡°Why are your damned dicks out?¡±


    Thyra burst into laughter but tried to restrain herself by putting her hands on her mouth. Her entire body cringed, but she didn¡¯t want to wake up her mother. Not after what had happened a second ago. She looked at Torm, who only held the ridge of his nose and rubbed it in disbelief.


    ¡°Head witch over there didn¡¯t like the reek,¡± said Buron and pointed at the beds. ¡°Only lets us stay inside if we smell like garden flowers.¡± He and his colossal companion moved around, dangling and dripping, without shame.


    ¡°Nah, she ain¡¯t liking his reek,¡± corrected Breg and smirked at Zaber. His beard and long hair had to be tamed with both hands, wrung out. Breg¡¯s whole body was as hairy as his birthstar. ¡°The shitbrat dipped you into the sewers good.¡±


    The blanket across the room moved, and the older woman sat up. ¡°That is not what I said.¡± She looked tired, and her gaze met her daughter¡¯s first. Letting her deal with these three, now four, while she rested, had been a hard decision. But Thyra wanted the first shift and there was no difference to it, both of them needed to sleep at some point. That way, she could get these men out of her home as quickly as possible.


    Zaber felt hot and dizzy, but seeing his friends after all that¡¯d happened was exactly what he needed right now. Moving hurt too much after just one try, so he stayed down. He heard what Breg and Buron had told him. They knew how to look out for each other and keep it to themselves. These women had to be watched, no matter the reason why Zaber ended up here.


    ¡°Scrub up, we got a long march ahead of us. Be ready at sunrise,¡± said the beaten veteran, smelling his own shoulder. Which was too much for even him. ¡°You too. Y¡¯all you rest up.¡± He nodded at Torm, his voice riddled with guilt.


    When he tried once more to get up, six hands reached for him and pushed him down. Twitching and grimacing in pain and discomfort, a seething hiss whistled between his teeth.


    ¡°You¡¯re in no condition to ride and certainly not to march,¡± said Tonna from across the room. Zaber remembered that kind of tone from a long time ago, and didn¡¯t like it at all.


    ¡°Not much time has passed,¡± said Torm and pulled Zaber¡¯s blanket up. ¡°We¡¯re on the other side of the lake. A good head start; we should use it to rest up to full strength.¡±


    ¡°You must be hungry.¡± Still giggling, Thyra pushed herself up from the ground. ¡°Stay down, I¡¯ll get you¨C¡±


    ¡°No, I will,¡± said Tonna and got up. She filled a bowl that was kept lukewarm by the embers. ¡°You go back to singing, fawn. This is good practice.¡± She smiled and put it into Torm¡¯s hands, with an urging raise of her brows. Her burned hands were on full display but her neck was hard to see under the blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders. ¡°Help him, then do as your master said, boy. Scrub up and go to sleep.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± asked Zaber, aggressively confused. ¡°I ain¡¯t his damned master. Do I look like I shit gold?¡±


    The unreasonably tall man and his bald companion smirked at Zaber and waved him a sloppy salute. They left and finished their bath, sleep was the right thing to do now. Thyra had to chuckle again, though, and Torm was infected by it. Seeing his mentor so cheerful after what had happened wasn¡¯t what he had expected. Especially after one of his hauntings. Maybe it was the length of uninterrupted sleep, or the fact that the greasy and unkempt man always felt better after any kind of fight. No matter the result, deep inside him, Torm hoped it was that Zaber was happy that they¡¯d survived. Together. But soon enough, they needed to talk about what happened. And about Asher.


    ¡°No, you do not,¡± answered Tonna and also grinned. A humorless and short-lived grin that soon enough made room for the cold expression that Buron and Breg faced. She pulled off the blanket, revealing her neck, and went back to bed. ¡°You look like a bloody murderer.¡±

 Chapter 19 - Day Seven

    Chapter 19


    Day Seven ¨C Midnight


    The night sky was deep, dark and starlit, infrequently visited by clouds. With only one arm, Zaber ate as much as he let Torm help him. Buron and Breg had been cleansing themselves with the makeshift soap from ash and oil before it was the boy¡¯s turn. Tonna went to sleep inside her own bed, and the men who threatened her made themselves a camp by the firewood. A subtle snore accompanied Thyra¡¯s melody, accentuated by a splash from the tub. Zaber didn¡¯t understand a single word while he stared at the ceiling, in pain. There was something about a herthas and warmithu, but these thoughts were drowned out by his own misery. What had happened¨Cnot just today¨Cabout Sagir and the Yesilians¡­ and Asher.


    Whenever the song reached its end, Thyra inhaled long and good before doing it all over again. This time, though, she didn¡¯t. ¡°The bath will be free soon,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯ll be next, Za¨C¡± She paused when Zaber didn¡¯t respond. ¡°Your name was Zaber, right?¡±


    With a fixed stare, lost, the broken veteran closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he looked outside the window, searching for his friends in the dark. The pain forced his eyes shut again. Thinking was hard.


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber and shook his head back into the here and now. ¡°It is.¡± He saw her hands move towards him, but swatted them away and rose on his own. Or more so, he tried. ¡°I ain¡¯t need help.¡±


    The young woman sighed and smiled at the time it took, her whole body slumping in frustration. ¡°Don¡¯t be a pighead, you can barely stand,¡± snickered Thyra. ¡°You folk act like mother told me. And like the men I read about.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll make it work.¡± Zaber smiled back, teeth grinding. ¡°I¡¯ve had wor¨C¡±


    ¡°You had worse,¡± swept Thyra in and tried to imitate her patient¡¯s voice. She lacked the rasp but came close enough for Zaber to feel mocked, raising an eyebrow at her. ¡°I can see that,¡± she said and poked at one of the scars, earning a murderous gaze and twitch of his hand. Her eyes widened and she flinched back for a breath. ¡°I mean¨C¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what you meant.¡± Zaber cut her off like a butcher¡¯s knife. ¡°Listen to your ma, you ain¡¯t dealing with nicefolk.¡±


    Another round of silence befell the room, only disrupted by infrequent splashes from outside. It wasn¡¯t easy to bear for Thyra, never had anybody talked to her like this. Or looked at her like this. She stood up and grabbed the viols that had sat next to Zaber ever since he¡¯d woken up. ¡°Wait a bit, please,¡± she said and rummaged through more jars on their table. She sifted through dried flowers, and green buds that oozed with a milky sap and diluted in water. On the windowsill close to it, they had a complicated arrangement of brass kettles with some bottles and viols around it. ¡°There.¡± Thyra tried to be quiet in her excitement. She opened a jar and stuck a finger inside, after which she tried the taste. ¡°Here, oaf, drink both of these and wash it down with some honey.¡±


    Zaber grabbed it, eyed it up and gave it a smell. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± He also gave it a dip and lick, clenching his whole face in disgust.


    ¡°The clear one will purge your stomach. You have to poop out all that poop you drank,¡± said Thyra and squatted next to Zaber. ¡°The other one is poppy juice. It¡¯ll ease the pain and make you relax.¡±


    ¡°Great, I know what that is.¡± Not wasting another thought on it, Zaber downed both of them and pushed the honey away. His cheeks were twisting and his nose wrinkled up. ¡°Our barber surgeon had that stuff.¡±


    Stowing away the viols, Thyra observed how Zaber reacted to the medicine. When he returned her gaze with that intense stare, she resisted looking away, only rolling her eyes through the room. ¡°So, this Asher¨C¡± she uttered a question that had been cooking inside her head for a while. ¡°He¡¯s the friend you¡¯re saving?¡±


    The veteran was caught off guard and snapped forward. ¡°Who told you that name?¡± His voice was even more raspy than usual. ¡°The boy?¡±


    Her breath was taken away and angst befell Thyra. Did she insult him? Her mother hadn¡¯t yelled at her in years, was it really necessary to talk like this all the time? This man had been withdrawn ever since he woke up and his friends had left the room. He was hurt, maybe that made him like this. Yet, there were also these ghosts. Thyra still felt sympathy for him, like for a hurt animal. Even though the wolves and bears around here were never that aggressive¡­


    ¡°You said it in your sleep, all the time,¡± said the rugged woman and folded her hands in front of her chest and gulped. ¡°But yes, Torm told me about your noble cause.¡±


    ¡°Listen,¡± said Zaber dryly. ¡°This ain¡¯t your damned business. The less you know about us, the better it is for you.¡±


    ¡°S¨C, sorry,¡± replied Thyra without hesitation. She waited for the awkward silence to return before breaking it again. ¡°Is it Yann? You¡¯ve uttered a lot of names over and over before y¨C¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your name again?¡± interrupts Zaber.


    ¡°Th¨C, Thyra?¡± she asked, befuddled.


    ¡°If you ever say that name again, I¡¯ll hurt you. Got that Thyra?¡± Zaber spoke slowly and it was hard to tell if he was hurt or wanted to add an extra threat. ¡°The man we¡¯re looking for is Sagir.¡±


    Zaber very well understood that she just wanted to talk. He didn¡¯t mind her, but he also didn¡¯t want to be here in the first place. It was a waste of time, no matter if he was not in a fighting condition. If it wasn¡¯t for that line magician, he could have rested on horseback. Ever since he woke up, he couldn¡¯t think about anything else but Sagir¡­ except when he looked out of the window and peaked back into the other house in Teblen. With Yar?? and the other Yesilians in their own blood. His mind jumped back and forth between Sagir and Asher and it made his temples pulsate. How Yann never left him. None of these thoughts were straight except for that he had to leave this hut and fix this¡­ with Brenz telling him exactly what to do.


    ¡°What about your friends?¡± Thyra¡¯s voice ripped Zaber right back into reality. ¡°The big and the bald fella,¡± she added and stretched her neck to look outside the window, trying to catch a peek.


    ¡°What about them?¡± answered Zaber, ever so adverse.


    ¡°They seem rough,¡± said Thyra, and looked back at the broken veteran. ¡°But oddly¡­ gentle?¡±


    ¡°Gentle?¡± Zaber raised an eyebrow and grunted a laugh. ¡°What are you on about?¡±


    ¡°They really love you,¡± she said and smiled. ¡°They¡¯re also very cute when they feel alone.¡±


    Zaber scratched the scar along his jawline and looked at his fingernails. Remnants of grime and yuck were still all over him and he had to think for a moment. ¡°We¡¯ve been through a lot. Together.¡±


    ¡°So you love them back?¡±


    She had seen the other two veterans make camp together, how Breg¡¯s head rested on Buron¡¯s lap before they went to sleep under the same cover. The way they helped each other with the hard-to-reach spots while bathing. The way the bald one swept a strand of hair out of the big one¡¯s face. Thyra wasn¡¯t afraid of them anymore.


    ¡°What are you on about?¡± said Zaber, annoyed, while his body began to slip out of an upright posture. ¡°I told you, we¡¯ve been through a lot together. I would murder everyone and everything for them.¡±


    Thyra shook her head, gasping in disbelief. ¡°Why are you like that?¡± she asked. ¡°These two come here and threaten us with a crossbow, and you are rambling about hurting this and murdering that.¡± Her eyes met Zaber¡¯s with pity, now that his intensity was fading. ¡°You¡¯re the first men I¡¯ve seen in my life and you¡¯re not giving me a good first impression. Or more like; you behave just the way mother told me. Only your boy isn¡¯t acting like a fool from my books.¡±


    ¡°You ain¡¯t got anything to fear,¡± said Zaber laying back down with droopy eyes. ¡°We just like that.¡± His scarred torso felt colder, so he pulled the furs up to cover himself. He didn¡¯t like to lay open, but his body wasn¡¯t working the way it was supposed to. Every once in a while, his eyes wandered over to the eating knife close-by. But for now, he only wanted to relieve his shoulder. ¡°Our time marauding is over,¡± he blabbered out.


    ¡°Your time what?¡±


    Zaber exhaled and closed his eyes, smirking at himself. ¡°We ain¡¯t pillaging anymore. No more killing and burning houses.¡±


    Thyra smirked back, satisfied by her medicine. ¡°I read about some wars. The Iridian Civil War, the Herkos Revolt and the Eomish Conquest.¡± Shifting to the side and resting her chin on her hands, Thyra wasn¡¯t focusing much. Eager to speak to anybody other than her mother, this was her chance to hear some new stories. ¡°They seem pointless.¡±


    ¡°They are,¡± said Zaber without even thinking. ¡°But your books can¡¯t tell you how great it feels to fight in one.¡± He rubbed his swollen shoulder with his good hand and rolled to the side, facing Thyra. ¡°You¡¯re right. The big oaf and the scrawny fella. And Asher. They¡¯ve saved me.¡±


    ¡°I am?¡± Thyra¡¯s face and voice brightened.


    ¡°I love them. And that¡¯s why I ain¡¯t buying that he¡¯s dead.¡± Zaber looked at the scar on the back of his right hand, that mirrored Asher¡¯s. ¡°He¡¯s the best.¡±


    The pain had been pushed into the background. It wasn¡¯t gone, but it stopped mattering. Nothing but a warm feeling of self-content was inside him. Zaber thought about their last evening together; he, the boy, Sagir and Asher. Not even the thought of the anniversary of Ceyhan¡¯s murder stung much, it was merely a nice stay at a tavern. Playing dice, drinking, singing, and listening to his three friends telling stories of what they were up to. And remembering Ceyhan together. Yesilians didn¡¯t believe in an immediate ascent into the Stars like Albinians, Krasnian and Gal¨¢zians did. A mountain prophet foretold it to them¡­ or something along these lines. Zaber didn¡¯t know much about it, nor did he care. The only thing he knew was about good folk, bad folk and¡­


    ¡°Are you listening?¡± asked Thyra and waved her hand in front of Zaber¡¯s face until he looked up again. ¡°I¡¯ve read about war. My mother told me about it too. It is a horrible thing, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡± Zaber glimpsed at the rugged woman, befogged. ¡°War¡¯s the best,¡± he said, and smiled. ¡°It ruins the best of men.¡± With eyes wandering through the room, he found every crooked carpeting job this hut was built on. ¡°Even worse for women and children.¡±


    Her mouth opened slightly, as Thyra couldn¡¯t fathom that answer. This time it wasn¡¯t tension or awkwardness that befell her, it simply didn¡¯t make sense to her. ¡°How can you say that?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand. Like the boy, it¡¯s better to not know everything.¡±


    ¡°Were all of you soldiers? Baldy, the giant, Asher, Yann and you?¡± said Thyra. She straightened her posture again, intrigued about the nonsense. ¡°What about Torm?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Yes,¡± he corrected. ¡°Me and Y¨C¡± Pausing again, Zaber squeezed his eyes shut as if he was punched in the gut. ¡°I¡­ my old man used to recruit young. Very young. I¡¯ve been soldiering for eighteen years, longer than the boy¡¯s been alive. Until the damned son of a whore finally pegged out.¡± The veteran closed his eyes again, leaned back and his smile brightened even more. ¡°I hope he¡¯s with the Kraken now.¡±


    Thyra¡¯s eyes switched between befuddlement and concern. She leaned forward, curious as a cat. ¡°Your father?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Zaber opened his eyes again. ¡°No. My father is a good man¡­ I think,¡± he said and thought for a moment. ¡°But everything got better when Asher, Breg and Buron joined up.¡±


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± asked Thyra. Her mother and she nipped from the poppy juice when they had cramps or were very sick. So the young woman knew what was happening to Zaber right now. She knew how it felt and how others behaved under its spell. ¡°You sound like my mother.¡±


    Gazing over Thyra from head to toe, Zaber lacked the focus to properly observe her. All he knew was that she looked different from the women in Teblen. Even different from village girls that weren¡¯t as stuck up as the cityfolk. Though not like the women occupying brothel streets or certain camp followers. Beyond the women who made Zaber uncomfortable, even showing too much of a grown woman¡¯s arms, legs or hair was considered indecent. Noble and monastic women often didn¡¯t even show their necks to demonstrate their pure character. But these two, in their hut, dressed wild and untamed. Something Zaber hadn¡¯t seen yet. The rogue mages they¡¯d encountered in the past were villagers, nothing about them stood out.


    ¡°No wonder the way she looks,¡± said Zaber after losing his thought. He remembered Tonna¡¯s hands and neck. ¡°We¡¯ve met folks like you.¡±


    ¡°In your army?¡± Thyra¡¯s voice rose and a bright glimpse in her eyes struck at the man on the floor.


    ¡°No,¡± said the veteran subdued and quenched her hopes. ¡°Folks like you ain¡¯t standing a chance against a line magician or proper nobleman. Your ma looks like she knows that too well.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± urged Thyra, leaning forward.


    Even with his mind set free from the pain, Zaber opened his mouth a couple of times without saying a word. Whenever he tried, his chest clamped up. His host¡¯s inquisitive eyes pierced into him, but Zaber was unable to say what had never been said. Gladly, he did not have to¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m done,¡± rang Torm¡¯s voice hushed, as the door opened. ¡°Fired up the tub again too. Do you need help to get in?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± reacted Zaber quickly. ¡°I¡¯m all juiced up, I¡¯m ¡®aight.¡±


    The way his mentor and Thyra lay on the ground irritated Torm. When not threatened, the young woman had an easy attitude, so there was no reason to deem it special. But Zaber wasn¡¯t like that. Only hard alcohol and the right company made him relax, something the greasy and unkempt man did not do too often. And there was no sight of liquor in the hut either.


    ¡°You fine?¡± asked Torm.


    Thyra got to her feet and straightened her dress. ¡°Don¡¯t mind it, I gave him poppy tincture and a purging oil,¡± she said and put her hands on Zaber. ¡°So yes, he still shouldn¡¯t put too much stress onto his body. Please help me bring him over.¡± Her head moved to the side, while Zaber was already trying to get up on his own. ¡°Can you stop it? Just because the pain is gone¨C¡±


    ¡°Come on, do as told,¡± said Torm and came to her aid. ¡°You want to get moving fast¨C¡±


    ¡°Nobody tells me what to do anymore,¡± interrupted Zaber, but complied. He stared Torm down, challenging him with his gaze.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± replied Torm meekly and braced his mentor on his good shoulder.


    The boy only wore trousers and a woolen undershirt taken from the bundles. Zaber was still wearing the filthy breeches from the sewers and nothing else. Tugged beneath the furs, feverish and filled with joyjuice, the incoming cold of the night did not faze him at all. Hugged around his torso and shoulder, a steaming bath awaited the broken veteran outside. With little resistance.


    ¡°There we go,¡± smiled Thyra when the patient was put on the edge of the tub. A cut-in-half wine barrel with brass mountings. She nodded at Torm so that Zaber wouldn¡¯t fall over when she went down in front of him. ¡°Down go your pants.¡±


    Before the young woman was able to even reach for Zaber, he pushed her away with his knees. She nearly fell over, while the mentor looked at his apprentice and avoided her befuddled gaze. ¡°No,¡± he said with a lowered yet threatening voice. ¡°The boy will do that.¡±


    ¡°For Stars¡¯ sake, what¡¯s wrong with him?¡± asked Thyra and looked at Torm. ¡°You can say that without kicking me.¡±


    ¡°Man, can you¨C¡± Torm struggled for words. ¡°He¡¯s just like that. Sorry, he¡­¡±


    The boy and the rugged woman shrugged and nodded before switching positions. Fully undressed, Zaber¡¯s stinking pants were thrown to the side, next to a wooden washboard. The water was quite tainted already, enduring its fourth visitor. Torm stood next to it, standing guard at his mentor¡¯s side, while Thyra was mixing oil and ash for a proper cleanse.


    ¡°Rest,¡± ordered Zaber while his body sank into the warmth. ¡°She ain¡¯t killing me.¡± His feet were hanging out the other side, swollen and blue.


    ¡°Kick me again and you¡¯ll see,¡± laughed Thyra.


    ¡°I am dead tired,¡± said Torm. He slouched down as he walked away, but stopped when a wet hand grabbed his wrist.


    ¡°Thank you, boy,¡± whispered Zaber deliriously. ¡°This ain¡¯t over. We¡¯ll get back at them.¡±


    Torm turned back one more time to share a smile. He was close to tears, but rubbed them away when Thyra joined his smile and looked as she was about to melt. ¡°I would hug you,¡± he said, looking into the water and over to the sleeping huddle that was Breg and Buron. ¡°But not now,¡± he said and walked away. ¡°And I¡¯m not your boy.¡± His chosen resting place was inside, right next to Zaber.


    ¡°Soo~?¡± Thyra¡¯s voice pitched up and down as she rubbed Zaber¡¯s broken shoulder. She let the men have their moment, but did not waste any time the moment Torm was gone.


    ¡°So?¡± asked Zaber confused, not even trying to look back at her. His eyes were closed and, for once, his body had lost all tenseness.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°No dodging questions.¡± She scooped water over his head and face. ¡°What did you mean?¡±


    With empty eyes, Zaber thought about the question way too long. Until his pupils widened and an illuminated exhale followed. ¡°Oh, your ma,¡± he remembered. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? They tried to slit her throat and burn her.¡±


    ¡°See, you think you know everything.¡± She poured oil and ash over his head, smelling his hair for a moment in mocking disgust. ¡°But you are wrong, I have to inform you. They tried to burn me; and we call them her hands of love.¡± Smiling on, she tilted her head ever so slightly. ¡°What does that have to do with your army soldiering? You fought in wars, I thought.¡±


    Zaber looked back over his shoulder and searched for burn scars on the young woman, but there were none. It was hard to misjudge the doubt in his stare for anything else. She even taunted the veteran by showing him her arms from all sides, shoulders, neck and whatever else was freely visible. Naturally, Zaber averted his gaze again, staring straight into the lucid sky. He hadn¡¯t seen it in a long while. Without the fog of Teblen.


    ¡°You¡¯re so odd,¡± said Thyra and sat next to the tub on the chopping block. ¡°I¡¯ve noticed Torm looking at me and how these two look at each other. I read about men, but you lot are all so different¨C¡± She stopped and also looked into the stars. Her first impression of¡­ anything, wasn¡¯t what she imagined. ¡°Yet the same.¡±


    ¡°Listen¨C¡± Zaber¡¯s voice rose, demanding attention. ¡°This ain¡¯t one of your fucking books,¡± he said and took another long pause to gather his scrambled thoughts with a smoother tone. ¡°Your loving mother saved you once, do as she told. Folk like me¨C¡± He halted. ¡°Like us, are bad. We kill, we plunder¡­ we fight who we¡¯re told to fight, or who looks at us funny. When we fought on behalf of a local lord once, we smashed a village revolt. One of your kind was among them, living peacefully with his family.¡± Each word became more raspy than the next and he clenched his fists under the water. ¡°Do not trust us. When the old man told us, we hung him. We hung him, we hung his wife, his children and everybody else.¡±


    Completely lost, Zaber was fixated on the Constellation of Bear; Breg¡¯s birth star. He didn¡¯t know how to continue after all of this poured out of him. The juice had taken away all his feelings and all the tension. With the pain dampened, his anger was as well. No sorrows, just thoughts.


    ¡°If he tells you to kill the prisoners, that¡¯s what you do. If he tells you to burn the crops and houses, that¡¯s what you do. If he tells you to¨C¡± Zaber¡¯s eyes met those of Thyra and he felt the pity on his skin. ¡°If he tells you to¨C¡± He swallowed and mustered the young woman, not averting his gaze. ¡°You do whatever a good soldier does. Books ain¡¯t true, fuck them and whatever fairy tales they taught you.¡±


    Even hearing about it made Thyra cry. Not in horror, nor was she sad. The thought of all these folk. And those forced to do it, who had to live with themselves, made her pity this sad man and his companions. But most of her sympathy was for Torm, who she showed her collection of books to. He even mentioned his favorite book, ¡®Little Squirt of a Squire¡¯ to her. The heroic mission Thyra thought they were on, and the way Torm looked at Zaber, talked about him and¡­ None of them were on the same page.


    ¡°She¡¯s my aunt, not my mother.¡± Thyra broke through the silence that Zaber had imposed on them. But he did not react at all. ¡°I was, like ¨C maybe two? When they found out my parents were practicing the old ways. We¡¯ve been living here ever since,¡± she said and smiled at the Stars. ¡°Surviving twenty-two winters in good health.¡± The veteran might not feel much at the moment, but Thyra saw his emotions clear as day. It made these delirious confessions bearable. All this misery and regret, she tried to wash away with another splash of water over Zaber¡¯s face.


    He shook his head and spluttered a confused breath. ¡°So you two haven¡¯t seen another soul ever since?¡± he said and sat upright in the tub. ¡°Where does all this junk come from?¡±


    Far from an expert, this hut didn¡¯t look like it was built with resin and sticks alone to Zaber. A guild artisan wasn¡¯t involved, but he had seen worse peasant builds. The women even had proper tools and the plants in these raised beds weren¡¯t from the swamp. And there was bread and flour, something impossible for them to homegrow under these conditions.


    ¡°Mother meets with the others for equinox and solstice,¡± said Thyra. ¡°She brings what we need and some extra, as gifts from her old friends. That¡¯s when I have the place all to myself.¡± Her voice pitched up in glee.


    ¡°What friends?¡± asked Zaber absentmindedly.


    Thyra slapped her patient¡¯s wet forehead. ¡°Can¡¯t say.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight, sure,¡± said Zaber, and blinked stunned. ¡°Nothing we need to know.¡± He sunk back into the tub, reveling in the good vibes that flowed through his veins. ¡°So you know jack shit about anything, huh? No other kids or adults, just your ma, the bugs and the books?¡±


    The rugged woman leaned back and nodded her head appreciatively. ¡°I like that,¡± she said. ¡°Bugs and books; I have to write that into my diary. That would be a great title¨C¡±


    ¡°Damned does your life suck, you even write,¡± interjected Zaber and shook his head. ¡°Why not go with your ma, you¡¯re a grown ass woman.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I say!¡± Her face and voice brightened, but she quickly remembered that everyone was sleeping. ¡°Not with such words, though. I prefer to call myself a bloomed flower, not an undeveloped bud,¡± she said, and tried to sound comically high-class. ¡°And we both write. We also read to each other and sing. I have plenty of friends around here too, we just don¡¯t speak in words to each other.¡±


    Zaber smiled at the Stars. ¡°It gets better and better. Got a little bird friend to sing magic with? You¨C¡±


    ¡°First you tell me about all these horrible things and not to trust you,¡± interrupted Thyra and adjusted the chopping block beneath her bottom to easier follow Zaber¡¯s gaze. ¡°And then you mock me for being boring? Without our medicine, you would still be drowning in pain and self-pity.¡±


    ¡°Point taken,¡± replied Zaber, defeated, and fell silent again. He tried to wiggle his toes and feet outside the tub but got hindered by the young woman. She inspected them thoroughly and kept an eye out for how the veteran reacted. Or not.


    ¡°Up,¡± ordered Thyra. ¡°Torm said you dove into gutter, you have to wash your dirty parts too.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod. He was supported by the rugged woman, partially getting wet herself. She smeared his hands with ash and oil so he could cleanse himself further, using his good arm. Zaber¡¯s gaze did not meet Thyra¡¯s while doing so, avoiding it at all costs.


    ¡°Baldy and the tall one have seen through my mother¡¯s singing with ease,¡± said Thyra while waiting for her patient to finish. ¡°How come? Mother always tells me how rare the singing of spells is, as do my books. One encounter can¡¯t be enough, can it?¡±


    ¡°Told you,¡± replied Zaber. He scrubbed the parts that wouldn¡¯t be acceptable in the presence of a woman. His own body was not what made him uncomfortable, even in Thyra¡¯s presence. ¡°We served under line magicians, petty and high nobility. Fella who messed me up was a mage too. Patrician I¡¯d say, he kinda sucked.¡±


    Even though she was repulsed by these men, everything about this situation was exciting to Thyra. ¡°So you¡¯ve noticed the healing song?¡±


    ¡°The what?¡± said Zaber and inspected his own armpits. His blue shoulder rose slowly, as the pain was only dampened, not gone. ¡°I understand that your gibberish sounds different. We recognize a couple from the officers. The ones you hear the most in battle.¡±


    ¡°Mother wants to kick you out as fast as she can. And you¡¯re in a hurry,¡± said Thyra, looking back into the window of the hut to spot her mother. ¡°We¡¯re singing you the Kiss of the White Sister.¡±


    ¡°And how¡¯s that helping? Ain¡¯t magic like¨C¡± Zaber paused to find the right words and finish the scrubbing. ¡°Fleeting? Wounds only close for a couple of breaths, not very long. Just enough to not bleed out and get dragged away¡­ if you¡¯re worth enough.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Thyra and nodded knowingly. ¡°But also no. What you¡¯ve heard is a perversion, an insult.¡± She helped with lowering Zaber back into the tub, making it hard to sound as educational as she would like to. ¡°Nature wants to be preserved. It always reverts back into its ur-state. What your lords and kings do is nothing but violence forced upon the world. Our magic works the same, but we take our time and respect the boundaries of nature. We hasten what will happen anyway, so it doesn¡¯t take a dozen or more days.¡±


    Zaber sunk back into the lukewarm broth with a slightly open mouth, as he had to think about all of this first. ¡°¡¯aight,¡± he said as if he understood. ¡°The fella we hung did a lot at the same time. More than a knight¡¯s spell.¡± The wet veteran checked on her face, brows narrowed in concentration. ¡°It was a full song, plenty of time to murder a fella. Didn¡¯t matter if it was powerful or not. Officers flung one verse and that¡¯s it. I think¨C¡± His eyes wandered back to the darkness of the forest. ¡°I think they call it a composition when they chain verses together. And it¡¯s like the Kraken himself comes down on a place.¡±


    ¡°So you have full songs?¡± Thyra¡¯s voice pitched up excitedly. ¡°Can you recite one? You don¡¯t have to hit the right note or put your Will into it.¡±


    ¡°Fuck no,¡± said Zaber and shook his head. ¡°I can remember one or two verses proper,¡± he laughs. ¡°Airich often led compositions¡­ later. Defeated Mur ad-Din with one. Fought the King in court when he was young¡­ that¡¯s how he became the King¡¯s First Choice.¡± No matter what Zaber had said before about the General, thinking about his presence on the battlefield, he was in awe. As if he was a boy again.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t the royal family said to be the strongest in all of Albion?¡± said Thyra, getting all of these questions out of her system. She was getting tired and the poppy juice wouldn¡¯t last until the next morning. ¡°And who¡¯s Mur ad-Din?¡± Sitting on the chopping block, she rested her elbows on her lap and her head on her hands. Thinking about what to ask next before her mother would chase their guests out. There was no time to sleep now.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know about that,¡± said the broken veteran and looked fascinated at his wiggling toes outside the tub. ¡°But the way folk fear him, the King¡¯s gotta be up there. Never heard the old man say a nice thing about him, though.¡± Absent-mindedly, Zaber checked on all the painful parts by moving them slightly. The warm water helped too, but he knew he shouldn¡¯t overdo it, as the pain was only forced into the background. ¡°Mur ad-Din was the most powerful Yesilian chanter. Twelve years ago, his campaign forced the three kings of Albion, Gal¨¢zion and Krasnia into an alliance ¨C the second one. Never have I seen the old man enjoy himself like back then,¡± said Zaber and smiled for just a moment. ¡°Never has the King trusted him¨C¡± He stopped and stared into the darkness, as grim as before the juice.


    ¡°Go on, please,¡± pressed Thyra and leaned forward. ¡°Is it true that Yesilians have multiple wives?¡±


    ¡°Psht!¡± hissed Zaber, after which the rugged woman followed his gaze between the trees. ¡°There¡¯s a¡­ thing.¡±


    A shadow of a figure was standing there, watching. Not taller than three of four feet, with a face and contour that was hard to discern. A heavy and clunky tool hung from its hand. Breathing heavily, a threatening silence broke through the damp snoring in the background.


    ¡°Nooo~¡± said Thyra silly. ¡°That¡¯s a nightskrat, he¡¯s friendly.¡±


    About to stand up, Zaber was pushed back without much pressure. Chills went through his skin as he saw the creature standing there. An itch went through the veteran¡¯s fist. ¡°Bringing his friendly murder stick with him, ain¡¯t he?¡± said Zaber, eyes never leaving the nightskrat. ¡°Or did you and your ma sing him over to do your deeds?¡±


    Torn between greeting her friend and keeping her patient in check, Thyra turned towards the naked man. ¡°Why say that?¡± she asked. ¡°Have I mistreated you? And he¡¯s just a nightskrat.¡± Getting up, the young woman walked away from Zaber, towards the shadowy figure. ¡°Skrats are nature spirits, like a woodskrat, you know? He¡¯s scared of the lights. We¡¯re usually asleep at this time, so he didn¡¯t know.¡±


    There was no reason to wait for an answer after getting insulted like that. Thyra¡¯s voice became quieter with each step, until she was as obscured as her monstrous friend. Watching her and the creature with narrowed brows, Zaber¡¯s chest was pulsating and his blood was heating up. Whatever this was, he wanted to fight it. He prevented himself from jumping out of the tub. Thyra and the skrat didn¡¯t speak a word, only gesturing at each other. Something like a hug and an exchange of hands until this little thing disappeared and the rugged woman returned.


    ¡°By the Stars,¡± exclaimed Thyra when she was close enough to look into Zaber¡¯s angry face. ¡°Calm down, he¡¯s harmless. The woodskrats have been driven out of most places, but nightskrats are seclusive by nature.¡± She was visibly annoyed when she sat down again.


    ¡°I take back what I said about you,¡± replied Zaber, relaxing back into the tub. ¡°That ain¡¯t boring at all. You hang with such a wretched fella?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call him that, his name is Skratty. You can¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve never run into a Gh¨®stis before, they used to be everywhere,¡± said Thyra.


    Still looking for the nightskrat, Zaber¡¯s thoughts were scrambled. ¡°Twice,¡± he said. ¡°No¨C, one more. When I was little I saw a heinzelgirl.¡±


    Exhaling once to get back into the right mood, Thyra pushed the chopping block beneath her closer to the tub. So close, her face was about to touch Zaber, which he pushed away with two fingers and a playfully irritated glance. ¡°Tell me more, that one¡¯s in none of my books. Not even the old translated Gal¨¢zian bestiary we got,¡± she said delightedly.


    ¡°They¡¯re of local fame where I come from.¡± Zaber closed his eyes to focus on his memory. ¡°From what I know, heinzelmen only live around the capital of Collam, a principality north the Reuwh.¡± The words flowed out of him with a painful undertone. ¡°Stubby little fellas. I was small too, but I think they¡¯ve reached to my ma¡¯s knees. Her name was¨C¡± Zaber halted. ¡°Is Lonya. My father¡¯s Brunn. Me and my brother Rodba stumbled into the heinzelgirl at night, heading over to our grandma¡¯s cubby, to¨C¡±


    ¡°What did she look like?¡± whispered Thyra in awe.


    Interrupted, Zaber needed a moment to gather himself again. ¡°Who?¡± It took even longer than before. ¡°The little fella? Pinkish and leafy¡­ I think? I don¡¯t¨C¡±


    ¡°Your grandmother. And your mother.¡±


    Zaber blinked. ¡°I¨C¡± he stumbled over the question. ¡°I dunno. Fat, my grandma was fat,¡± he said. ¡°My ma wasn¡¯t. I think I got my hair and eyes from her, but I¡¯m built like my pa. Grandma always said Rodba looks like grandpa, but I wouldn¡¯t know that.¡± His eyebrows were about to melt into each other and his forehead pressed into folds. ¡°They ain¡¯t important. The creature was eating our hard bread. Heinzelmen do that, they steal your leftovers and drink from the udders of cattle. But they finish your unfinished handiwork in return,¡± said the veteran and watched his breath form in the rising cold of the night. The water was still warm enough, even though he didn¡¯t feel much. ¡°They were rare, but everyone liked them and tried to lure them into their homes.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t matter?¡± asked Thyra, puzzled. Her mother had told her stories about their family, in great detail. ¡°They sound lovely. What about the other two?¡±


    The thought about his parents usually dreaded Zaber, but not today. He often thought about them deep at night, when he stared at the stars or ceiling. Most thoughts, though, were wasted on Airich. But also Asher and Breg and Buron. And Yann. And Aume, Livy, Reon, Vhal, Snappy and¡­ Brenz. And all the names he had already forgotten. But mostly Airich and Brenz.


    This night was different. It had been a long time since he felt so unhaunted. A shiver went through his bones and shoulders when he remembered that Thyra had asked another question. Her eyes were urging him. ¡°I¡¯ve seen a lindwyrm, once. At a distance. That¡¯s all I can say about it.¡±


    ¡°Where? Flying or flightless?¡± asked the rugged woman and splashed her hand into the water to get Zaber going. ¡°There¡¯s always more to tell.¡±


    ¡°We were up north, marching eastwards, towards Krasnia,¡± continued Zaber, closing his eyes once more. ¡°All the officers, especially the knights, got their pants wet just seeing it. Wasted all our time roaming the hills and forests to find it, instead of resting.¡±


    ¡°They peed their pants in fear?¡± giggled Thyra. ¡°What cowards!¡± she said way too loud and pressed her hand on her mouth afterwards. ¡°Winged ones are incredibly rare, they only develop them after adolescence¡­ which can take centuries.¡±


    Smirking at himself, Zaber¡¯s head nearly disappeared beneath the lukewarm water. ¡°No they didn¡¯t piss their pants.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Thyra¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What else?¡±


    Gazing at Thyra in disbelief, Zaber shook his head at himself. ¡°Nothing, not important,¡± he said. ¡°They were out to slay it.¡±


    Thyra slumped down and curled her lips. ¡°Damned,¡± she said as if this was her first curse. ¡°What a bummer. Do you know why they do this?¡±


    ¡°No idea. Probably horseshit honor,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Wasting their and our time, ¡®cause they never had to work for real.¡±


    ¡°No¨C¡± said Thyra immediately. ¡°I mean, yes,¡± she corrected herself. ¡°Your boy, Torm. His favorite book¡¯s about it. Not only that book, but he would know.¡±


    ¡°Not you too. Just stop it with this book-shit.¡± Zaber¡¯s body jerked up and got exposed to the cold, steaming ever so slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t give a fuck about this,¡± he said and saw that Thyra was hugging her own bare arms and shoulders, while he still didn¡¯t feel anything. ¡°And stop calling him my boy.¡±


    ¡°As I said.¡± Thyra ignored him. ¡°It was a rite of passage in the past. Old squires and freshly anointed knights sought out Gh¨®stis to prove their excellency at the high arts,¡± she recited a bit snobbish, only to laugh about herself when she was done.


    ¡°That explains a lot,¡± said Zaber cold. ¡°Why all the fuckers are dead. And why King Theogreif claims Iridian ancestry, calling themselves the Gryphenslayers. They¡¯re known to hunt big ones on the regular.¡± He stopped and squinted at the stars. ¡°The old man was known for slaying a lindwyrm. He was born under the Dragon, so I thought he made it up for fame¡­ And why our banner¡¯s captain was so eager to follow that valv?,¡± said Zaber, struggling to say the creature¡¯s name right. ¡°Or however they say it. Back when we were fighting east, in Da?ken and Movaria.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the last one? A valv??¡± Thyra¡¯s pronunciation wasn¡¯t right either.


    ¡°Yes,¡± nodded Zaber. ¡°A ghastly looking wench, tall and slender. Spotted her on top of some hills, close to the Krasnian border. Thought the captain just wanted to get his dick wet when he rolled out alone.¡±


    ¡°Again with that saying,¡± noted Thyra and halted her speech to think. ¡°But he didn¡¯t kill her, did he? They protect villages from storms. They can shapeshift into shadows and black cats and can seduc¨C¡± Coming to a sudden stop, her expression turned disgusted. ¡°Eww, I get it now.¡±


    No care in the world, Zaber laughed out loud. The sleeping folk around him didn¡¯t matter when he heard the genuine revulsion of this young woman.


    ¡°Eww, eww, eww, what is wrong with you?¡± she slapped him on his blue shoulder, but he didn¡¯t react. ¡°Can¡¯t let a woman pull down your pants but that¡¯s alright?¡± she said, laughed, and patted his shoulder apologetic.


    The usually greasy and unkempt veteran didn¡¯t talk to women that often anymore. And never like this, if he was of sound mind. The only folk he talked to like this were the ones he drank with. Folk he trusted and that trusted him, which only included one woman these days¡­


    Losing himself in these thoughts, Zaber regretted taking the poppy juice. He did not know Thyra and it would be for the better if this wouldn¡¯t change. But right now, feeling guilty was hard ¨C and that felt good.


    ¡°Lost your tongue?¡± asked Thyra and ripped Zaber back into the present. ¡°Did you hear any of them sing?¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡± Zaber shook his head. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°The heinzelgirl, or the lindwyrm ¨C did the valv? sing?¡± Hugging herself even tighter, Thyra leaned towards her patient once more.


    ¡°The ghosts?¡± asked Zaber and searched around confused. ¡°I hear ghosts sing all the time. Dunno about them.¡±


    Thyra rubbed her hands against each other and breathed warm air between them. ¡°Gh¨®stis, not ghosts,¡± she said. ¡°It means guest, or stranger. We learned magic from them, all of them can sing. As well as some animals.¡±


    Looking through the treetops, Zaber¡¯s gaze went back to the sky. Some clouds had come by, but there was still enough glow to kiss his wet skin. ¡°That ain¡¯t true. It is handed down by the Stars. A blessing of Celestial Right; everybody knows that.¡±


    The young woman sighed. ¡°No it isn¡¯t. It¡¯s a blessing by the Stars, but everyone who can sing can speak to nature. The nightskrat can, a lindwyrm can¨C¡± Thyra¡¯s face was illuminated when she also gazed into the stars above them. ¡°And so can you, the birds and the crickets. We are all blessed with magic,¡± she said with a tranquil smile.


    For the first time between them, the silence seemed intentional. Both took in the moment and reveled in it¡­ until Zaber broke it. ¡°Even a peasant son?¡± he said and smirked with closed eyes.


    ¡°Maybe?¡± replied Thyra in her beautiful, sharp voice, a dramatic mezzo. ¡°Under what Star were you born?¡± Her breath was visible in each word.


    ¡°Rooster,¡± answered Zaber. ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°Stag,¡± said the rugged woman. ¡°Torm said he¡¯s a Stallion. If your old man really was a Dragon, he had to be strong. The five major Constellations ar¨C¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± interrupted the veteran. ¡°We were always on campaign on the Day of the Dragon. No matter that it¡¯s in winter. That¡¯s when we defeated the Yesilians with his Rolling Flames composition. Rain fire and brimstone on them, he used to say.¡±


    ¡°He sounds like a scary man,¡± uttered Thyra and averted her gaze from the stars. The thought filled her with gloom.


    Zaber, though, had to smile thinking about this. ¡°He¨C¡± was what the veteran was about to say, but got interrupted.


    ¡°Enough corrupting my daughter for today,¡± sounded a strong, lyric contralto through the door to the hut. Tonna leaned on the frame, a pelt around her shoulders. ¡°You gotta be freezing, fawn,¡± she said. ¡°Both of you.¡±


    ¡°Oh¨C¡± Zaber halted and turned towards Thyra. ¡°Fawn. You¡¯re a Stag.¡±


    Snorting at the obvious, Thyra and Tonna shared a mischievous smirk. The older woman put her burned hands onto her daughters shoulders and wrapped the pelt around her.


    ¡°I gave him poppy juice,¡± said Thyra and stood up.


    ¡°That¡¯s why he¡¯s still sitting in the freezing water,¡± replied Tonna, feeling the tub. ¡°Good call, fawn. Now go inside, it¡¯s time to sleep.¡± She inspected Zaber¡¯s shoulder and pulled him up. ¡°And you get your butt inside and rest down. The blabbermouth already told you, I¡¯m gonna sing to you.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I¨C¡± responded the daughter to the scolding.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± said her mother, to Thyra¡¯s surprise. ¡°Although, be less noisy next time.¡±

 Chapter 20 - Day Seven

    Chapter 20


    Day Seven ¨C Morning


    A violent hurl drove Torm up. He had fallen asleep fast and didn¡¯t wake up even once. That¡¯s how exhausted he had been after that day. Right next to his mentor, who was bending over sideways, turning his insides out. Tonna was assisting Zaber, grabbing his unusually silky hair and holding a jar. A surprising sight for Torm, he had not seen that bum this clean in nearly a year, and even less so throwing up.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± asked Torm, shocked.


    The older woman patted her patient on the back and nodded her head in the vomiting rhythm. ¡°No need to worry,¡± said Tonna. ¡°He¡¯s done that a couple of times this night.¡± Zaber spat out chunks of his breakfast. Dry bread and a deliciously reeking fish sauce. ¡°As you said, he gulped up gutter. And the oil we gave him is doing the rest.¡±


    The room was unchanged, except for the food and pitchers of water. But there was a regular ¡®thud¡¯ coming from outside. Thyra also woke up and stretched herself out of her bed with a big yawn.


    Torm slipped out from under the furs and rolled to the side. It felt pretty warm already, so it had to be a late morning. When he stood up, he saw Buron chopping wood outside, accompanied by his unreasonably tall partner, whittling away on a piece of wood.


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber after a sip of water. He looked terrible, worse than on his worst days. Sunken cheeks, giant bags under his eyes, and barely any color on his skin. Tonna had proven herself less of a conversationalist and sang to him without pause. At peace with himself, as long as the juice worked, Zaber had a lot of time alone. ¡°Now that y¡¯all are awake, let¡¯s gather outside. I¡¯ve got a plan.¡±


    ¡°Another one?¡± asked Torm, trying to infect Zaber with a smile.


    It wasn¡¯t hard for Tonna to keep Zaber on the floor, pressing him down on his good shoulder. She put two fingers into her mouth and whistled sharp and loud, startling Thyra for a brief moment. ¡°Come in,¡± she yelled. ¡°Your captain wants to hold a war council.¡±


    Zaber looked at Tonna¡¯s hand on his shoulder, angered, and put it aside. His entire skin ached and the last thing he wanted right now was to be touched. ¡°I was a corporal,¡± he said. ¡°And we¡¯re all the same now. We¡¯re all in this together.¡±


    Flicking away Zaber¡¯s hand, Tonna stepped aside and hugged Thyra. She handed over the bread and sauce before turning around again. ¡°Oh, you are so obviously in charge. I don¡¯t care for your petty titles.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± replied Zaber and scratched the scar along his jaw. ¡°They¡¯re horseshit.¡±


    His two friends, Buron and Breg, entered the hut. The unreasonably tall man wore some robust, old linen, as he felt no threat that metal could prevent. With a much bolder choice of clothing, Buron went shirtless. Nothing but rolled-up breeches. He had small cuts on his body that were nothing in comparison to Breg¡¯s or Zaber¡¯s. The scar on his left knee though overshadowed them all, short of Tonna¡¯s hands and neck. Breg¡¯s simple, yet sturdy, pair of boots were contrasted by the bald one¡¯s bare feet.


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± smiled Buron, taunting, and sat down next to Zaber and Torm. ¡°You are in charge.¡±


    ¡°Tell us¨C¡± said Breg and knelt at his broken friend¡¯s feet. ¡°My general, what is our objective?¡± Under all the hair rested a face carved from stone.


    The two veterans stared at each other, one more serious than the other. Torm knew that kind of gaze from Zaber and that it had a different meaning to Breg. For their bald companion, this wasn¡¯t anything new, but the boy felt uncomfortable after a while. Until Zaber and Breg smiled at the same time.


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Start by handing me my blade.¡± He nodded over at the lange messer by the entrance, where it had rested all night. And Breg did as he was told.


    ¡°Hold on.¡± A dramatic contralto filled the air with vibrations, even without much effort or volume. ¡°There is no need for that,¡± added Tonna and walked in front of Breg, eyeing every man in the room.


    ¡°There is,¡± said Zaber coldly and reached for the blade.


    ¡°No there isn¡¯t,¡± emphasized Tonna once more and blocked the colossus¡¯ path. ¡°We are no threat to you, I don¡¯t want any of you to be armed in our home.¡± She tried to take the lange messer away before it was handed over, but Breg anticipated that easily and passed her. The blade laid on the fur, between Zaber and Torm, opposite of where Tonna and Thyra stood. ¡°What kind of coward are you?¡±


    The apprentice saw his mentor¡¯s hand twitching for a moment. Back in Teblen, this would have escalated already, but he saw how Zaber held back. ¡°Please, let him have it,¡± said Torm. ¡°He needs it.¡±


    Stepping away, Breg moved out of reach. He stroked his beard with both hands and sought eye contact with Buron who just shrugged it off and rubbed his knee nervously.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t need it tonight, why now?¡± asked Thyra, nibbling on some dipped bread.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play damned dumb you gave me that juice,¡± barked Zaber and his head snapped to the side. ¡°Which I need more of.¡± He scratched the scar on his jaw even more, but lowered his hands to rub the scar on the back of his hand instead. His neck felt hot, sizzling hot.


    Tonna saw how the broken veteran¡¯s hand wandered to the hilt, just to feel it. Have it by his side. She had never seen a man as tense as Zaber, which had to be worse with the effect of the medicine wearing off. But his shoulder was relaxing, now that he felt cold steel again. Even his posture slumped down. ¡°Not today,¡± she said and sighed. ¡°You haven¡¯t slept at all and your body needs to get back to normal first. Now put that blade aside, you should feel better already.¡±


    Teeth grinding, Zaber clenched a fist where Tonna could not see it. He felt Torm¡¯s hand on it and closed his eyes frustrated. ¡°You ain¡¯t understand, I need this.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± There was no gap between their words. ¡°You are hurt and on the run. But we are hosting four grown, armed men. Your friends have made it evident that they are capable and willing to hurt us.¡± Tonna knelt down and put her hands on Zaber, gently, looking into his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll put it at the entrance, this was the deal I made with the boy.¡±


    Retracting his hand, Zaber¡¯s thoughts were written on his face. She did not understand. But she was still right. Obliging to the rules of others was something he had sworn he had put behind himself. It couldn¡¯t be helped¡­ for Sagir. ¡°Boy,¡± he said and glanced at Torm. ¡°Put it away.¡± There was a yearning in his eyes, skeptical, following his blade to the entrance afar. He turned back to Tonna after his apprentice had returned to his side. Grinding his teeth one last time before quenching the urge with a piece of bread. ¡°I ain¡¯t gulping the juice right now. I need it for when we leave. We¡¯ve got much ahead of us and I wanna be prepared for the worst. If you give us some, we can roll out tomorrow,¡± said Zaber and sought out Buron next to him. ¡°Where are the horses? Don¡¯t tell me we lost them.¡±


    ¡°They ain¡¯t lost,¡± said Breg and knelt back down again, scrapping the theatrics. He pointed vaguely into a direction outside. ¡°At a glade; plenty grass and no wolves in this bog lik¨C¡±


    ¡°You need at least four more nights of good rest,¡± interrupted Tonna. She walked up to her daughter, who was half-asleep, but listening closely.


    ¡°Six,¡± said Buron, shaking his head like a know-it-all. ¡°At least six. Walking isn¡¯t enough, we need to be combat-ready.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll be good soon enough with our song,¡± said Thyra, munching on her last piece of bread and taking a sip from the fish sauce. She grabbed a tin cup and walked to a small pot above their fireplace, filling it with hot nettle to drink. Her face was easy to read when she noticed the stern look her mother gave her. Tired and confused.


    Torm, Buron and Breg looked at Zaber and each other, brows high, eyes widened. The broken veteran exhaled painfully tense. ¡°I was about to get to that,¡± said Zaber. ¡°No interruptions anymore. I thought about this all night.¡±


    ¡°Fawn,¡± interrupted Tonna one last time. ¡°Let¡¯s have a talk.¡± She grabbed her daughter at the cusp of her patched together flax skirt. ¡°Outside,¡± she added and pulled Thyra away, only able to grab a bone comb. She nearly spilled hot water on herself as she was dragged outside.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Zaber waited until they¡¯d left and looked at his friends. With a curt nod, he sighed before speaking up. ¡°I¡¯ve lost good men,¡± he said gloomy. ¡°And a woman.¡± His eyes wandered outside, following their hosts.


    ¡°And Asher,¡± said Breg, choking up for a moment. Even all that hair in his face could not hide that.


    ¡°Not confirmed,¡± said Zaber, staring at his own lap. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t die sitting down. It looked like a fight, but he was sitting. He¡¯s too good to¨C¡± Zaber halted when Torm rested his hand on Zaber¡¯s bad shoulder, provoking an irk from his mentor. Rubbing the scar on the back of his hand that mirrored the scar Asher had, clenched to a fist, he grumbled. ¡°Shut up,¡± he said to no one.


    ¡°Zaber¡­¡±, mumbled Torm, but his hand got cast aside by his mentor jerking his shoulder, hurting. ¡°C¡¯mon.¡±


    ¡°I said shut your damned mouth, and listen.¡± The broken veteran avoided looking at Torm and instead focused ahead. ¡°It¡¯s just the four of us now. The closest arcanium mines are somewhere in the Elbian Mountains, east. With heavy wagons, the transport will at least take to the next red gibbous moon. We can make that in half the time, a bit longer if we take through the wilderness,¡± said Zaber. ¡°After our ambush, it¡¯ll take them two days or so before they roll out. If we saddle up soon, we¡¯ll¨C¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be ahead of them in a couple of days.¡± Buron finished the sentence for their leader. ¡°But as you said, we are just four.¡±


    ¡°And I lost good armor,¡± added Zaber with a curt nod.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± murmured Torm, looking down. ¡°I had to¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± interrupted Zaber and forced a smile. ¡°It was the right call. I made the promise to fix this and I am set to fulfill it.¡± He put his hand on the boy¡¯s upper arm. ¡°We gotta make good on the Yesilians who died for Sagir. They took a shot at their freedom and they all knew what they were in for.¡± Halting for a moment, a thought intruded Zaber¡¯s mind. A thought, spoken by a sizzling voice. ¡°We gonna kill that line magician for them.¡±


    The unreasonably tall man and his bald companion nodded determined and smiled at the sight of their friend. ¡°But¨C¡± said both at the same time and stopped. Exchanging gazes, pleading the other one to continue, Breg took the initiative first. ¡°They¡¯ll up the guards. No way they¡¯re not expecting you.¡±


    Zaber scratched the scar on his jaw. ¡°They already have. I would double or triple the escort and put my best men on the line if I were them,¡± he said and grabbed the breakfast knife close to him. Just to hold it. ¡°We got some armor left and Breg can still be tinned from head to heel. We need to look out for an armorer and switch out the horses if we can. They¡¯ll take the King¡¯s Road for sure, or lose even more time.¡±


    ¡°Wait, does the King¡¯s Road even go east?¡± asked Torm, dumbfounded. The High King¡¯s residence was far north on the Nornberk peninsula. Old Iridian roads were claimed as the King¡¯s Roads too and made up most of the network. But the old Albinian saying that everybody knew was: Those who travel north stand protected. Similar idioms were spread throughout the princedoms, but many of the ancient pathways weren¡¯t maintained well and thus barely comparable to what the King claimed as his own.


    ¡°The Archduke of the Elbmarch is the King¡¯s cousin. The road was built to protect the southern border. We¡¯ve traveled it once, shortly after it was constructed,¡± said Zaber.


    ¡°You; we didn¡¯t,¡± replied Buron. ¡°That was before we joined.¡±


    ¡°Damned¨C¡± Pausing to think, Zaber looked at the other two veterans. ¡°It really was. Couple of years even,¡± he said, staggered. ¡°But you two know the region better anyways. You¡¯ll have to take the lead on this.¡±


    With one hand, Breg pulled on his own beard, thinking. ¡°We¡¯ve done escort jobs over there, but never full length,¡± he said and threw a glimpse at Buron to take over.


    ¡°There are halmets on the way where we might get new gear,¡± said the bald veteran and rested his hands at the back of his neck, letting his eyes wander to the ceiling. ¡°Can¡¯t get too close their Lords and Master, though. I¡¯d imagine the Margrave sent out word. Most stables and inns aren¡¯t safe, except one close-by. So, the hedges it is.¡±


    ¡°You make the calls, I trust you,¡± replied Zaber and nodded at everyone. ¡°We¡¯ll leave some coin behind for the troubles, then we¡¯ll head out. Gather intel about a pompous caravan with prisoners. Should be impossible to miss for the locals.¡± He rotated the knife in his hand so that the dull side pressed inverted against his arm, hiding it. ¡°They ain¡¯t crashing in the wilds, too dangerous for them. Wayside taverns will be too remote and small either. Quartering among the peasantry is their only option.¡±


    ¡°If you say double or triple,¡± said Torm, rubbing his wrists. ¡°What can four accomplish that eight couldn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Small war tactics.¡± Breg folded his arms before his chest and nodded determined. His arms and chest looked especially big at this moment.


    Zaber pointed at his friend, emphasizing a correct answer. ¡°We ain¡¯t winning a direct hit, even as an ambush. We shock and awe them, over and over, until they mess up,¡± said Zaber and raised the knife and stabbed the air in front of him with a smirk. ¡°Hit and run, make them chase us. We gotta scout them first and see what we¡¯re dealing with.¡±


    While the voices from inside were planning in agreement, the four companions did not heed to what happened outside. Tonna walked her daughter away, far enough that they couldn¡¯t hear the men anymore. The morning was still chill, but temperatures were on the rise. Thyra¡¯s rugged hair was even more wild. She was about to tame it with the little bone comb while sipping on her nettle cup.


    ¡°What is it you want to talk about, mother?¡± asked Thyra in high spirit, tilting her head to tame unruly mane.


    ¡°Would you mind not telling them all our secrets?¡± said Tonna and sighed. She waited for a reaction, but joined her daughter shortly after and braided her hair. ¡°I couldn¡¯t help but overhear your conversation last night.¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± gasped the young woman. ¡°They¡¯re also in hiding. Their secrets balance ours out, shouldn¡¯t they?¡± Turning around, she lowered her head for her mother. Neither of them were tall for Albinian women, but Tonna had a couple of inches on her daughter.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t the same, fawn. These men will leave us and we will never know what happened. Who would we even tell?¡± said Tonna, pinching her lips while getting a nasty knot out of Thyra¡¯s hazel thatch. ¡°You heard the man, they¡¯ve killed before. Believe me, they are survivors. They would do and say anything to save their hides or venture.¡±


    Thyra waved at the spot she met the nightskrat, between two trees. The two women planted themselves at their roots in the still wet grass, leaving behind a trail with their patched together skirts. ¡°They¡¯re saving a friend¡­ I don¡¯t think they¡¯re bad folk,¡± said the younger one.


    A long sigh preceded before Tonna halted her hands and stared at the burn marks. ¡°Fawn,¡± she said distraught. ¡°Didn¡¯t you listen? It doesn¡¯t matter if they are bad or good, they are capable of unimaginable things. I have seen men like them,¡± she whimpers and chokes up. ¡°Men like them brought us here. You don¡¯t understand and I don¡¯t want you to learn this lesson.¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± said the fawn to the doe. ¡°How can¡¯t I be excited to talk to them? Tell me, how could I not?¡± she pleaded.


    ¡°Please, fawn.¡± Tears rolled down Tonna¡¯s cheeks that she pressed against Thyra¡¯s back. ¡°I can¡¯t do this. Not again.¡± Her hands were shaking and her heart was about to jump out of her chest.


    The emotions spilled over and Thyra turned around to embrace her mother. ¡°I know you¡¯re in pain,¡± she whispered into Tonna¡¯s ear. ¡°I hear you whisper in your sleep, I am not that naive. I know plenty.¡± They split and looked into each other¡¯s eyes, still holding onto the other¡¯s shoulders. ¡°I can¡¯t live like this anymore. My world cannot just be you, the bugs and the books.¡±


    Wiping away her tears first, Tonna took her daughter¡¯s hands into her own burned ones, still trembling. She inspected them and Thyra¡¯s, the calluses and the cuts from cooking and working on the hut and little accidents. Indeed, her daughter was not a delicate flower, easy to break. ¡°I know, but this is between you and me. They have nothing to do with this,¡± said Tonna with half a smile. She swallowed, loud and clear. ¡°Treat them nice, talk as you please¡­ but we have to think about our safety.¡±


    ¡°You are right, I¨C¡± Thyra stopped and thought about her words carefully. ¡°I do not understand what he means when he talks about¨C¡± she halted again, because she did not know how to finish. ¡°I also know that it was the poppy juice. But I would lie if it wasn¡¯t interesting,¡± she continues. ¡°Mother, Torm and Zaber want to save a friend. And the way the big fella and the funny one look at each other¡­ I can see you in them, and that makes them good to me.¡±


    ¡°Not the boy,¡± said Tonna, laughing aloof. ¡°He has more in common with you. I only¨C¡± She also struggled for words.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll never run away from you. Let me make friends, there is nothing more I ask of you,¡± smiled Thyra and hugged her mother one more time. ¡°But please, take me with you next time you leave. I want to meet the others, and visit a market.¡±


    ¡°Guess I can¡¯t put it off any longer, can¡¯t I?¡± Tonna turned her attention back to her daughter¡¯s rugged hair. ¡°You can only read about the world for so long until you have to see it.¡±


    ¡°There is so much I want to do.¡± Thyra¡¯s mezzo voice pitched up and she turned around to lean against her mother. ¡°I want to see showmen and acrobats. And drink in an inn, maybe start a brawl!¡± she said and flailed her fists around in mockery. ¡°And I want to have sex. And a passionate kiss with a woman, like in the books.¡±


    Braiding her daughter¡¯s hair, a woman in her mid twenties who hasn¡¯t seen anything yet, Tonna smiled. ¡°Sure, fawn,¡± she uttered. ¡°We¡¯ll see about that.¡± She was giving Thyra the same braids she used to like as a child. Life has not been easy around the marshes, but it was safe and happy. Away from a world that hated them, it was time for a change. The box had been opened¡­


    ¡°Oh, see,¡± said Thyra after a while, breaking her mother¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Skratty left us eggs. I gave him a bone pin when he visited, he must¡¯ve brought them later. I think he was concerned.¡±


    The older woman reached for the quail eggs, neatly resting beneath a tree. Half a dozen, as if the nightskrat had counted their guests. Tiny and fragile, Tonna weighed them in her burned hands. ¡°Let¡¯s fry them with onions and our fish leftovers,¡± she said, sunken in thought. ¡°Open the wine I brought back last time. I don¡¯t want to be accused of lacking hospitality.¡± Her faint smile turned hopeful. ¡°Who knows, this might be their last.¡±

 Chapter 21 - Day Nine

    Chapter 21


    Day Nine ¨C Sunset


    The sky was painted orange by Father Sun¡¯s farewell behind the horizon. To Tonna and Buron, that meant rain might befall them soon. Two days had passed since their irksome first encounter between the inhabitants of the hut in the marshes and their intruders. Zaber was hobbling around the hut, much to the displeasure of his reluctant caretakers.


    ¡°Switch!¡± yelled the broken veteran at Torm.


    The boy was handling a crossbow and stood right behind a fully armored Breg. Towering over Torm, the giant swung his bardiche around in repeated dry runs. The unreasonably tall man stepped aside as if he was facing a new enemy after felling the first. Torm stepped into the open space to play his part. He knelt down, cast aside the crossbow, and drew his hunting knife to run it into the ground. The boy even imitated a gesture of raising a helmet or putting aside something before pushing the blade through imagined gaps. For Breg, this wasn¡¯t a challenge at all, his face was still calm and collected. He was fully in control of his movements, but his young backup was glistering and panting. They had been drilling relentlessly for hours. Dry shooting and finishing off one enemy after another.


    The two other veterans stood close-by, Buron right next to Zaber. Still looking unusually clean, the mentor was judging and instructing his apprentice from the chopping block. His bald friend was leaning against the hut¡¯s wall, bare-chested and bare-footed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bend over with your back, you got more strength in your legs,¡± said Buron and stepped in to correct Torm¡¯s posture.


    ¡°I¨C¡± the boy panted. ¡°I know. But I hit my limit¨C¡± He kept on his knees and widened the collar of the dirty-white gambeson under a piece of rusted maille. ¡°Too ex¨C, exhausted. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°You good, stay down a bit,¡± said Buron and patted the boy¡¯s helmet. ¡°You move way more confident and well in armor compared to when we started.¡±


    Now that his hair fell in unusual ways, Zaber had to constantly push strands out of his face. It felt like he had lost another protective layer around him, even though he was wearing his old attire again. All of them did, as Buron and Torm had cooked and washed their tainted clothing. And Breg and Zaber had tended to their weaponry. Annoyed, Zaber tried to get up and¡­


    ¡°Ah, ah, ah,¡± said Thyra from behind. She was leaning inside the door frame, watching the drills beady-eyed. The long talks they had at night showed results and her words were not ignored. She even wagged her finger the same way her mother did when Thyra herself was younger, but was ignored.


    ¡°You gotta aim more careful,¡± said Breg and pulled off the visorless barbuta from his head. It was of the latest Gal¨¢zion fashion but dents and scratches had robbed it of its beauty. ¡°Couple of your shots would have hit me in the hip or arms. Take your time at peace to build a routine for war.¡± The unreasonably tall man walked over to his bald companion and hung his helmet on a strap woven into the maille on his chest. His hand gently rubbed upwards Buron¡¯s shoulder, into his neck. Smiling at his bald companion before turning around with a serious visage. ¡°So far, you¡¯re still a distraction to me cleaving them apart.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± replied Torm and fiddled with the strap on his chin, not quite getting the skull cap off. ¡°I try to¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t try anything,¡± interrupted Zaber. ¡°It ain¡¯t even much to step further outside or duck down more. You still move like you¡¯re in a duel. I lost good armor, if you hit my arm it¡¯s over.¡±


    ¡°You know, I could be a third front.¡± Torm stood up and let the crossbow hang down in one hand, placing the free one on his bauernwehr. ¡°I¡¯m way better¨C¡±


    ¡°Not this horseshit again,¡± grunted Zaber and scratched the scar along his jaw. ¡°Next fight will be against real soldiers, not some dumb guardsmen. All tinned up, bladework ain¡¯t going to cut it.¡±


    ¡°Heh,¡± laughed Buron, moving between mentor and apprentice. ¡°Cutting it.¡±


    Three raised eyebrows and a giggle came from the background. ¡°Fuck you,¡± smiled Zaber, knowing what his friend was doing.


    ¡°What you gonna do?¡± asked Buron, the only unarmored man among the friends, as he slapped Zaber against his bad shoulder. ¡°Right now, even I can outrun you.¡±


    Seething in pain for a moment, Zaber glimpsed at his bald friend. Torm and Thyra looked shocked, but the broken veteran¡¯s face brightened up. ¡°Anyway,¡± he said and tried to get his hair to stay put. ¡°You¡¯ll back me up, and Buron goes with Breg. No ifs, ands or buts; this is the drill and you do as to¨C¡± Zaber clenched his teeth.


    Torm sighed. ¡°Got it.¡±


    ¡°Heh,¡± laughed Thyra, imitating Buron. ¡°Butts.¡±


    ¡°Not you too.¡± Zaber¡¯s mind had been drifting away, but got back on track. He turned around as much as he could. ¡°We gotta murder some fuckers, this ain¡¯t a laughing matter.¡±


    Crestfallen, Thyra slouched down and walked up to Torm, giving him a little jab of encouragement. ¡°You¡¯re doing good,¡± she said, even though she had no clue if she was right. ¡°My mother can be like that as well when teaching me.¡± Her eyes followed Breg and she couldn¡¯t resist touching the bardiche axe. All this stuff only existed in her books and she was yearning to give any of these weapons a swing. Every time she got too close, that giant or the grumpy one were staring daggers at her. They were very protective of their murder toys and no fun. ¡°However,¡± clapped Thyra, a hint of her dramatic mezzo shining through. ¡°How are you doing, Zaber? One more night of rest and song and you should be ready to go.¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡± Zaber halted, smirking at what was about to come. ¡°I¡¯ve never been better.¡±


    ¡°Good to hear,¡± said the rugged woman and fiddled with the fringes of her dress. Something in Zaber¡¯s voice was just not sitting right with her. All four of them were saying things in ways she was still trying to get a grip on. ¡°It¡¯s an even night, so no juice today. And need to get off it from now on,¡± she paused and exhaled. ¡°And you really need to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I packed it up,¡± said Buron, helping Breg with his armor. Running his hands over and around the giant¡¯s chest, smiling upwards into the salt and pepper beard. ¡°Thanks for the stock, again.¡± The scrawny man looked back at Thyra and winked. Afterwards, he turned his full attention back to what¡¯s in front of him. Adding one more word while looking into his companion¡¯s eyes. ¡°Appreciated.¡±


    ¡°You lot have no idea¨C¡±, whispered the young woman. ¡°You know what? We should do something nice for our last evening. Wanna teach me one of these soldier songs you¡¯ve been whistling and humming all these days?¡± She tilted her head slightly, making her untamed hair fall over her shoulder and half her face. She looked rather silly blowing it away and shaking her head. So much for trying to be puppy-eyed.


    ¡°Our songs ain¡¯t for you, missy,¡± said Breg, muffled beneath the maille over his head. ¡°We gotta get the steel over to the horses before supper. Tomorrow¨C¡±


    ¡°No,¡± cuts Zaber into Breg¡¯s words, making him stop immediately. ¡°Let¡¯s make her regret that she asked. We might come back here someday.¡± He smirked even more, with a clipped nod. ¡°Maybe you can teach me a song then. When all this is over.¡±


    As the rugged woman and the worn-out veteran looked at each other knowingly, a strong contralto reached out to them. ¡°I never want to see you again,¡± said Tonna. ¡°You are already deadmen. If your forlorn venture succeeds, you can never return here. Or anywhere.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t write us off so easily,¡± said Torm and walked inside the hut where Tonna was cooking. ¡°We¡¯re¨C¡±


    ¡°No weapons inside, still,¡± said the older woman. ¡°You can play with your toys outside, but not in our home.¡±


    Fish was their main source of sustenance. She was frying whitefish with salt and the rosemary that she hid under her pillow. It hadn¡¯t shown any of its effect on their patient, but it helped Tonna. She felt relieved at the thought that this was their last night. They¡¯d already left their mark. Their nightly neighbor had brought berries and nuts. Using these, Tonna was making her specialty sauce with leek. She even smoked some eel for them to take on their journey.


    Leaving the steel at the door, Torm didn¡¯t try to be soft-footed around the older woman. She had been startled on more than one occasion over the last few days and there was no need to make her more miserable. But he had to follow that smell. The unreasonably tall man and his bald companion were carrying their belongings a couple hundred yards away, and Thyra was pestering Zaber with more questions. His mentor was ignoring her, but there was no running away. It was a nice change for the boy to see the man so eerily enthusiastic. It had to be Breg¡¯s and Buron¡¯s presence, Zaber wasn¡¯t like that before the ambush failed¡­


    ¡°May I help you, Torm?¡± asked Tonna, looking detached into the pan.


    ¡°Huh?¡± The boy lost his thought. ¡°Only following the smell. Aren¡¯t you happy to kick us out?¡±


    Closing her eyes and rubbing them with one hand, Tonna sighed long and slow. ¡°Boy, if it was just for you, I wouldn¡¯t mind,¡± she murmured more to herself. ¡°But your elders pain me. The way they talk, the way they move, and the way they look,¡± she said and flipped the fish. ¡°They are what they are, and everyone who¡¯s encountered men like them cannot overlook that.¡±


    Torm had come to express his honest gratitude, this wasn¡¯t what he expected. ¡°Listen, Zaber has helped¨C¡±


    ¡°I do not know who your parents are, but I am sure the reasons why you¡¯re living with this man have to be sad,¡± she interrupted. ¡°But let me give you one piece of advice in their stead:¡± The older woman turned around and looked deep into the boy¡¯s hazy blue eyes. ¡°Ditch them. You are not like them and they¡¯ll be your death. Stop trying.¡±


    ¡°¡±You don¡¯t kno¨C¡±, tried Torm again, but didn¡¯t get far.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard and seen enough these last few days. Thyra might not notice yet, but I know well what it means to be wrong about the folk around you. The big one hates you and his lover couldn¡¯t care less,¡± said Tonna and reached out for Torm¡¯s shoulder. ¡°And your big brother, or master, or teacher, or whoever he¡¯s to you agrees with me. You are not like him, boy. You¡¯re bet¨C¡±


    Overwhelmed at first, with an open mouth, Torm didn¡¯t know how to reply at first. But when the older woman was about to touch him, he swatted her hand away in anger. ¡°I ain¡¯t your boy,¡± he said dryly with narrowed brows. ¡°I¡¯ll help Breg and Buron so we can scram early.¡± He turned around and marched out, the same way he came in. Grabbing his weapon and the next best piece of gear, Torm followed Buron and Breg. The boy¡¯s stomps immediately attracted Zaber¡¯s attention and Thyra had to hold him back from standing up.


    ¡°One more day,¡± she said. ¡°Just one day of inaction. This won¡¯t kill you.¡± Noticing the flinch in her patient, Thyra held her hand in place. ¡°Let¡¯s go inside if it pains you so much to see them work,¡± she smiled.


    Scratching the scar along his jaw, Zaber followed with a curt nod. His eyes wandered after Torm until he disappeared between the trees. Not much sunlight was left and they had to get this done. And the girl was right, thought Zaber. It felt damned shit to not lend them a hand. The broken veteran needed a distraction, constantly. He felt his mind slipping away again, thinking about how to reach the transport. If it weren¡¯t for the poppy juice, it might be even worse. Every moment he wasn¡¯t thinking about how Sagir was suffering for his blunder, Zaber yearned for another chug of sweet relief. Whenever its spell wore off, he felt just as shit as before¡­ maybe even more.


    ¡°¡¯aight, let¡¯s go.¡± Zaber shook off the thoughts that were intruding into his head. ¡°You should talk books with the boy later. He¡¯s losing his calm and I need him at his best.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Thyra¡¯s head jolted back. ¡°I will talk books with him, but not so he can do your dirty deeds better,¡± she said, revolted.


    With a disgruntled, ¡°Huh?¡±, Zaber came to a halt. He braced himself against the walls to walk, but Thyra already came to his aid. ¡°That ain¡¯t¨C¡±


    ¡°Yeh, yeh,¡± silenced Thyra the veteran. ¡°You really like to order folk around, don¡¯t you? Your friends seem used to it, so you can play war with them,¡± said the rugged woman amused. ¡°But me and my mother like to ask each other nicely and wait for an answer. Like normal folk.¡±


    ¡°What would you even know about normal folk,¡± smiled Zaber, forced. ¡°Tell me when you meet them.¡±


    Thyra stopped and brought both of them to a halt. She opened her mouth as if she had something to say, but instead walked on to get Zaber a seat. Glimpsing at her mother, still cooking, the young woman pointed at the veteran and said, ¡°Good point.¡±


    The unreasonably tall man walked back from their cargo run. When Torm joined them, Buron saddled and loaded the horses. He had sent Breg back to fetch their last weapons and gear. It was a good opportunity to teach the boy, as the bald man didn¡¯t expect him to be a good rider, from all these years in the big city. Breg, on the other hand, did not have the kind of patience for this, at least not for the boy. He was a good hunter, but that did not mean he was good with animals ¨C nor humans.


    When Breg had left Buron¡¯s presence, his shoulders tensed up. He straightened his beard with both hands. Without even noticing, his fists clenched at any unfamiliar noise around him. His beard was bristly, but his black and gray hair flowed well with every step he took. When Beg saw the hut, his eyes focused on his polearm from afar and his steps accelerated into a steep march. When he grabbed it, he gave it a small, calming swing; something he did with a lot of things when he got the chance. Even more so when he felt alone.


    Not minding any of the female voices within, Breg only gave it a quick peek to spot his friend. Their eyes met, as usual, as Zaber spotted his unreasonably tall friend from the periphery of his eyes. They were always on the same page like this.


    But just like that, Breg¡¯s ears itched and he threw a troubled look into the darkness of the forest. He skimmed the area until his stare became fixed like a pointer dog. The unreasonably tall man slowly stepped away from the hut and its distracting noises. Until he recognized the cause of his irritation. An animal; with hooves. Powerful, long strides¡­


    Breg squinted. There was a figure afar, covered by the feint hints of the setting sun through the treetops. He opened his mouth, but got interrupted by a brass horn from the bog, reassuring him. ¡°Armored rider!¡± yelled Breg. A cavalryman was heading straight at the colossus. Wearing an unsegmented sallet, legs and armed tinned, but only a plackart on top of a coat of plated with maille. This was good armor, not a guard or levied footman.


    Lowering his stance, Breg shifted the grip of his bardiche to bring it down, ready for an upward swing. He knew what he was facing; half a ton of horse and steel, about to run him over. But the rider wasn¡¯t armed with a lance or spear, only a cavalry sword and shield. Nor was it a barded horse, dressed to show the colors of their regiment. Inhaling once, relishing what was about to happen, this wasn¡¯t this giant¡¯s first game of chicken. And yet, he was still standing here, on this chill evening.


    Thyra arrived outside at the right moment to witness what kind of magic comes from a man of Breg¡¯s size. And what her mother had warned her about. The unreasonably tall man didn¡¯t bat an eye when he cleaved into the unprotected face of the horse. When he exhaled, Thyra¡¯s breath stood still, in fear that Breg was about to be trampled. But instead, an excruciating whinny echoed through the forest. The beast¡¯s face was ripped open and parts of its left eye were gaping.


    Still in full motion, the steed stumbled sideways with the flow of the swing. Its legs gave in, crashing to the ground. Tackling the pure concentration of muscles that was Breg ever so slightly, forcing him to shift stance. Under the horse¡¯s dying breaths, the rider was screaming his lungs out. The soldier¡¯s legs were smashed under the weight of the animal. A couple of steps and Breg had grabbed the man¡¯s helmet, forced it open, and crushed the rider¡¯s face under his massive fist.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take him! Retreat, retreat,¡± yelled the colossal veteran, planted his polearm blade-first into the steed¡¯s neck, and kicked the brass horn aside.


    ¡°Understood,¡± replied Zaber equally loud and clear, limping outside. He grabbed his lange messer from the door. ¡°I handle the rear guard.¡± His face was painted in pain, but now was not the time to rest.


    Jumping to her patient¡¯s side, Thyra braced herself against Zaber. ¡°What¨C¡± Her breath hadn¡¯t returned yet. ¡°What is happening?¡±


    ¡°You dimwitted morons,¡± rang a dramatic contralto from inside. Hastily, Tonna grabbed as many belongings as she could and threw them into a blanket. ¡°You led them here, into my home,¡± she said, through tears of anger. ¡°You damned¨C¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± uttered Thyra and turned back. ¡°What¡­ I¨C¡±


    ¡°Leg it, we gotta scram,¡± interrupted Zaber as he fastened his belt. ¡°That horn will bring more. Well armed, numbers unknown, and¨C¡±


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    ¡°Zaber?!¡± Buron and Torm ran towards them over the pastures. ¡°Are they coming, was that a signal horn?¡± asked Buron, already sweating, even though it was evening.


    Breg rose after he dragged the soldier out from under the bleeding horse. He had stowed the cavalryman¡¯s sword back in its sheath and wielded the man in full armor like a yoke. Pulling his weapon out of the horse, he looked at his friends. ¡°Four more riders; The Margrave¡¯s coat of arms!¡± he yelled once more and ran.


    ¡°Run! We gotta¨C¡± Zaber halted and his ears shifted through the woods. Something beneath these tramples caught his attention, something familiar¡­ ¡°Mage,¡± he whispered. ¡°It¡¯s the line magician! GO!¡±


    As if she was summoned by these words, Tonna appeared behind her daughter and pulled her around and into her arms. She looked into Thyra¡¯s eyes and pushed the bundle onto the younger woman. ¡°I love you, fawn,¡± she said. Her cheeks and eyes were red, but filled with righteous wrath when she faced Zaber. ¡°I¡¯ll haunt you if she dies. You¡¯ll never find peace.¡± Her fists were clenched and her chest heaved with deep, steady breaths from her gut. ¡°Now, by the Stars, take her and run. I will handle this.¡±


    The band of four and Thyra had arrived at the same spot and Buron took the last gear lying around. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he said hastily, with the three veterans nodding at each other.


    Zaber was about to drag Thyra ¨C still bracing him ¨C away, but was stopped by Torm. ¡°On my back,¡± ordered the boy, turned around and bent his knees. But his mentor was about to ignore him. ¡°No! No!¡± screamed Torm. ¡°It is my turn! You listen to me: Get your damned arse on my damned back, now!¡± his voice cracked.


    Coming to a full stop, Zaber looked at Buron and Breg, whose gazes urged him to comply. The broken veteran¡¯s teeth pressed the muscles on his jaw out. ¡°¡¯aight,¡± he said. ¡°Buron; girl duty,¡± he added and did as told.


    ¡°Come on,¡± said Buron and grabbed Thyra¡¯s arm. Still in shock, it was easy to drag her along. If she wanted or not.


    ¡°Walk close to the trees, they¡¯re a cavalryman¡¯s natural enemy,¡± said Zaber and tilted his head so that he could see next to the boy¡¯s head. ¡°No looking back. You run and you run fast.¡± Zaber held on close and Torm nodded acknowledging.


    From far away, after Thyra¡¯s breath had returned, Tonna was able to hear her fawn¡¯s voice once more. ¡°Mother!¡± she screamed over and over. ¡°Mother! Please! I love you, please!¡±


    But it was too late. Tonna had returned inside, the odor of fish and her sauce still in the air. There she sat, out of the view of her arriving new visitors. But her strong, dramatic contralto could be heard all around the hut. Her home, which she built with her own two hands and where she raised her niece as her own. Hands she wanted to cover in tears, but that would break her breath. And Tonna needed her breath. Her daughter needed her breath.


    And thus the air filled with oscillations, distortions, and melody¡­


    ¡°Hauzija miz, hauzija miz, hit isti ainaz war¨­n?s tal?,


    Ubiri ta f¨¥r¨­ tat lagjan? b¨©jainaz ta mihstaz sumpaz,


    Hwar ta w¨¥taz m¨­tijan¨­ ta daudaz, uppwr¨­ts fan¨¥ l¨©b?,


    ta kraftuz ta Wistiz isti b¨©jainaz izweraz graipis¨­n,


    L¨©k? rast¨­ wela at ta butmaz ab tat mihstaz sumpaz...¡±


    The earth shook and the tremors of the spell and the trampling horses mixed. A long-winded chant accompanied the riders. It originated from the last, granting the animals unnatural swiftness.


    ¡°D¨¡ eis v¨¥l¨­cit¨¡tem,¡± sung a sonorous tenor, light, repeatedly from beneath an older bascinet with a latticed visor. Lost between the trees, Genhard did not notice another song. Following his orders, his mind was set on one goal and one alone. ¡°I¨C¡± he tried to speak, but keeping his voice, singing and riding at the same time was more than what he was trained for. ¡°Ignore the wench! Follow the men,¡± he said, letting the spell fade behind them. When they were close enough, Genhard planned on picking up the tone. To crush them beneath their hooves, and avoid all battle¡­


    Tonna¡¯s singing though, was fundamentally different from the patrician¡¯s. Slow and melodic, seeping into nature, as opposed to these methodical chants that violated it. The wind-up had been long enough for the witch¡¯s spell to show its first effects. The humid evening air of the marshes were gathering into a thin veil. The ground beneath the soldiers turned muddy and soft. On instinct, the horses slowed down, lost track and stumbled. Their legs were getting entangled by the roots of the trees, pulling them down.


    Only their stirrups kept the cavalrymen on horseback after an abrupt halt. However, one of them was unfortunate and got catapulted ahead, crashed, and sank right away, a few inches, into the miry ground. ¡°Argh!¡± he cried. ¡°What the fuck?!¡±


    Their leader wasn¡¯t an experienced rider. Genhard held tight, maybe too tight, onto the reins and clamped onto his steed. He pulled up his visor and looked around. ¡°Psht!¡± His voice was shrill. ¡°Silent!¡±


    ?Uppwr¨­ts fan¨¥ l¨©b?, aiwaz manniskaz wertan? beun,


    Newunmann kunnan? antikweman? ta kraftuz ta Wistiz,


    Newunmann kunnan? fleuhan?.¡°


    ¡°Cornet!¡± yelled the soldier on the ground as he was dragged beneath the surface. ¡°Something is grabbing me under¨C¡± All air squeezed out of his lungs. The horses were only spared this quick fate by merit of their size.


    ¡°Forget what I said; storm the house. Kill¨C¡± Genhard hesistated. ¡°Kill that witch!¡±


    ¡°How? We can¡¯t dismount lik¨C¡± replied one soldier, sword and shield in hand.


    ¡°M¨±t¨¡re ad solidum,¡± sang the sonorous tenor. His spell was quick, drying up the earth around them so much that the grass was withering. ¡°Quick,¡± ordered Genhard. His blonde mutton chops were flowing out of the helmet. The light wound on his cheek was still there, red and wet.


    The cavalrymen abandoned their horses and charged Tonna¡¯s hut. Their cavalry swords were all of slightly different shapes, but their heater shields were uniform. Each displaying the Margrave¡¯s coat of arms with the second banner¡¯s numeral on it. All of them were professional soldiers, wearing cuirasses or coat of plates, tinned legs, forearms and shoulders. With maille beneath and their heads enclosed in steel.


    ¡°R¨¥ ¨C M¨© ¨C F¨¡ ¨C S¨­¡­¡± Genhard¡¯s chants oppressed Tonna¡¯s voice. Still singing in the background, forcing the squirming roots to stand still. The tenor filled the air with disruptions. It slowed the witches¡¯ vibrations down before they could reach their target. She couldn''t force her Will on it. Walking in armor and singing at the same time made it hard to focus on the seemingly chaotic change of tones the patrician chose. He walked behind the soldiers, choosing each pitch carefully.


    ¡°Get her,¡± ordered the first. When they reached the walls and peeked into the window, the five soldiers assigned to Genhard had already lost two. The three cavalrymen and the patrician saw the middle aged woman sitting on her stool. Eyes closed, when a deafening screech from the woods pierced through Genhard¡¯s chants.


    ¡°B?uHspe? m¨¦ynos Hrey?, k?¨ªsheyu leg?hn?d?¨¦r de m¨¦ynos d?ergdy¨¦!¡± sizzled a chaotic yet melodic shriek towards the soldiers. A barely four feet tall creature in shredded fabrics jumped at them at a similar speed to a charging horse. Its grimace pierced by teeth, fallen in uncountable wrinkles. Impossible to recognize as a human. Deep blue skin like the night¡¯s sky. Patches of hair sprouting all over its body and eyes that hardly stood out from its sockets.


    Deep green saliva splattered from its moving mouth as it sang an archaic tune and buried its brutal tool in the first cavalryman¡¯s face. Bending and breaking the metal at the hinges of the man¡¯s helmet, his skull broken open. Blood dripped from the splintered stone on a wooden club, fixated with flaxen rope. Even more blood spilled out of the helmet of the soldier. His lifeless body was smashed against the walls of the shack.


    ¡°By the Stars, w¨C¡± yelled the last standing soldier. He raised his shield to block an incoming swing from the monstrosity. But iron mountings, leather lamination and wood were not enough to withstand the strength of the nightskrat. Skratty carved through the obstacle with such force that its bearer¡¯s arm was snapped like a twig.


    ¡°¨¦?hH¨®m s¨® n¨®k?ts t¨®d ¨®ynosleyg per¨­ s¨® d?og??os!¡± continued the creature deemed friend by Tonna and Thyra relentlessly. A green fluid dripped from his eyes in contact with the last remnants of sunlight. The third soldier thrust forward his sword and dug it into the nightskrat¡¯s naked side.


    Filled with pain and magic, Skratty¡¯s chant was interrupted by a scream. Too fast to even retract his weapon, the soldier got hit by the monster¡¯s primitive weapon. It shattered against the breastplate, no match for modern metalwork. It left a lasting dent and flung the man away. Two cracks might have been heard, if it weren¡¯t for the three voices singing over each other. One from the cavalryman¡¯s rib cage, the other from his neck when he hit a tree sideways.


    With only a couple of feet between him and this thing, Genhard had to think fast. He knew very well what this untamed wild beast was. Capable of the most ancient magic and filled with a natural connection to it. Its spells were inferior to his, but one hit and no armor in the world could save him. He had no choice but to give in to the witch if he wanted to survive against this abomination. He had to finish this quickly. And by the Stars, he hated it.


    ¡°Ego ventil¨­,¡± he sang, and pushed his hands away from himself.


    The nightskrat was caught by a stormy gust of wind and nothing but its natural strength kept it afoot. However, the ground beneath both of them turned soft and miry by the strong contralto in the background once more.


    Genhard closed his eyes in prayer. ¡°May the Stars stand by me¨C¡± he murmured. ¡°I¡¯m a damned enchanter! Ego trah¨­ ferrum!¡±


    As the nightskrat braced itself against the winds, feet sinking into the ground, Genhard pulled back his hands in sync with his words. It was about to leap forward again, when the nightskrat became aware that it wasn¡¯t the target of the spell. Something behind it was. The whirring sound of a sword came closer, fast. It belonged to the man flung into the trees and any normal folk would have been stabbed by it. But not Skratty and his abnormal physique, who caught it before it reached his vitals. Another terrifying scream reached throughout the woods as the blade pierced through the monster¡¯s hand.


    Panting and sweating, Genhard felt his feet sink into the wet earth and grass. Seeping through the gaps of his armor. The creature let loose again, its claw-like feet pulling out from the marshes. Both of them were bogged down, but one was more adept than the other. And so, brimming with nature¡¯s rage, Skratty jumped at Genhard and toppled him over. The patrician raised his arm in defense, but got his shoulder grabbed in one powerful motion. Crashed into the ground, Tonna¡¯s spell was about to devour the enchanter.


    ¡°Foul beast¨C¡± panted Genhard. ¡°Sine pond¨C¡± he sung, but was brutally interrupted.


    Purple blood flowed from the nightskrat¡¯s side and hand. Pain had overtaken its melody and its eyes were filled with even more green. With its good hand, Skratty hammered down on the magician¡¯s torso right beneath his neck. A ¡®pop¡¯ and ¡®crack¡¯ suppressed the patrician¡¯s voice and made him scream in agony, as his collar bone shattered. The creature pummeled Genhard so hard that his eyes went blank. His body got pushed deeper into the swamp that spread under him. The monster¡¯s saliva dripped onto the magician¡¯s face, about to murder him with a devastating final smash¡­


    When Genhard felt wood wrapping itself around his neck, his lids ripped open and life returned into him. Not today, he thought, as he put all his Will into his survival. ¡°Ego acc¨¥nsus!¡± screamed the tenor. Never had he sung as loud when he laid his hands around the beasts head as if he was squashing it. The air between his palms transmuted. A burst of flames, bright as daylight, engulfed the nightskrat¡¯s head at the speed of a chant.


    Drenched in sweat, mud, and red and purple blood, the enchanter¡¯s throat and chest hurt like nails were driven into them. But the deathly shriek of that abomination filled Genhard with joy and a surge of vigor. The monstrosity had rolled over and held its face in torment, struck with primal fear of the light. Its eyes and parts of his head had been charred, down to the last wrinkle.


    The bog had reached his chin, but Genhard¡¯s hands had found the planks of the hut to hold onto. Just before his lips would have sunken down, he let out the most beautiful verse he had ever produced: ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s!


    Filled with a strength he hadn¡¯t known before, his gloved fingers pressed into the wood and split it open. Genhard pulled himself up, roots and sludge all around him. His only thought was to draw the ornamented dagger from his hip and stare at the skrat of the night. It whimpered, as the earth consumed it.


    ¡°R¨¥¨C¡± Genhard gasped for air. ¡°R¨¥ ¨C M¨© ¨C F¨¡ ¨C S¨­.¡± Filling the air with magic ¨C his Will ¨C the patrician was driven to his limits. With a broken rhythm and off pitch, he pushed down on this filthy beast¡¯s throat with cold steel. With a satisfied smirk, Genhard felt like he had never felt before. He lingered on the act ¨C the first of its kind for him. Only a brief moment before grabbing his armor where his collar bone was broken. Still chanting chaotic sequences, he tried to get rid of his helm with one hand. His blonde hair and sideburns were sticky. The bascinet hit the muddy ground, splashing grass on the half-sunken body of the nightskrat. On his knees, Genhard heaved himself up, dagger held close. Nature was reshaping itself to what it was before magic was forced upon it by that vile woman. With each step, one slower than the next, the earth was returning back to normal. Healing. ¡°D¨­ ¨C M¨© ¨C R¨¥,¡± sang the tenor, as he walked up the door and pulled down the broken knob.


    ¡°Hauzija miz, hauzija miz, hit isti ainaz war¨­n?s tal?


    biri ta f¨¥r¨­ tat lagjan? b¨©jainaz ta mihstaz sumpaz,


    war ta w¨¥taz m¨­tijan¨­ ta daudaz, uppwr¨­ts fan¨¥ l¨©b?,


    a kraftuz ta Wistiz isti b¨©jainaz izweraz graipis¨­n,


    ¨©k? rast¨­ wela at ta butmaz ab tat mihstaz sumpaz.¡±


    Tonna¡¯s eyes had been closed the entire time. She heard the commotion from outside and knew that Skratty had come to her side, the true friend it was. But she had to focus. His arrival had brought back a smile on her face, as she knew what a truly wonderful being it was. And a powerful ally. Its song, how it was quenched, the screams and how they stopped, Tonna was awfully aware of.


    Without fear in her body, she opened her eyes and her subliminal melody came to a halt. She looked at the filthy beast that had entered her home ¨C that she had built with her own two hands. The same way these strangers had entered. The woman¡¯s mind was at ease. She hated these men. But she loved her fawn.


    ¡°You fat¨C¡± coughed Genhard and leaned onto the door frame. ¡°Witch,¡± he said.


    Rising from her stool, Tonna raised the knife she used to cut fish and onions with. It had rested on her lap, waiting for one last cookout. She knew that it was futile to face him with her magic once they saw the white in each other¡¯s eyes. His blue and filled with spite, and hers brown and filled with love. Tonna had learned her lesson in the past. She had to resolve to an even more archaic way of defending herself now.


    ¡°Look what this witch did to you,¡± she said with a smile. ¡°I¡¯ll join the Stars with a fulfilled heart.¡±


    ¡°Ow, fuck you,¡± uttered Genhard melodically and the amber dust in his dagger glowed.

 Chapter 22 - Day Eight

    Chapter 22


    Day Eight ¨C Morning


    When the transport passed the northeastern gate, the tired guardsmen of Northwatch hastily straightened and saluted. It was still too early for the next shift to relieve them. Their orders were that the Margrave¡¯s soldiers were leaving on the yester. But they were one day late, as some of the prisoners had fled into the city. None escaped their fate. It took a day to return the beaten and bruised men to the courthouse so that they could stand trial for their crimes.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time for some of the sixteen men and three women, but one thing was different. The custom to exhibit sentenced criminals, no matter the severity of their misdeed, fell short. Nobody had flocked towards the courthouse next to the guildhall. No nasty things got thrown. No mockery nor insult, no spit and no evil eyes. The same folk that had followed the transport before it was ambushed were gone. The same folk who usually would have followed it until it left. Nobody came. Not a single soul paused their busywork to even look at them.


    Rumors had it that a man from Westwatch, an infidel who had bested the most hardened scum, had killed good guardsmen. Even innocent bystanders with the help of his savage horde. And that he had survived and gotten away. Sagir heard the whispers and felt the scared glimpses. And he damned well knew what the guardsmen were thinking when they got him and his inmates he was chained to. Fear. Fear of returning him and fear of being around him. Never had Sagir been treated so well in his life, no matter the iron around his neck and limbs.


    ¡°Guildsman,¡± said a perfect baritone on a strong, blue roan steed. As a show of force, the knight wore the full attire of the chivalric estate he belonged to. A set of white armor in typical Lower Albinian fashion. Many flutings ran down the polished steel. Arms and legs had maille incorporated directly into the bright blue doublet beneath, it¡¯s color shining through the few gaps left. The rondels at his armpits bore the coat of arms of his family. A meandering blue river on yellow ground with a sword at the center. The left pauldron and rondel were larger than the right one, under which a lance rest was attached.


    ¡°Yes, Sir Beotold?¡± answered a downtrodden man on a rose gray horse. Genhard looked miserable in his mismatched armor next to the soldiers and officers. He held onto the reins with both hands, unlike the proficient cavalrymen around him. With his blonde hair flowing in the wind, right into his sideburns, the fresh wound on his cheek still not healed.


    Sagir tried to not stare too much. His eyes twitched back and forth between the knights and the patrician. The peppersack only wore his ornamented dagger, while the knight¡¯s armors and weapons were decorated and etched in red and gold in magic letters all over it. The captain even more so than his lieutenant. Now that Sagir saw them in daylight, they were even more imposing than when he was rotting in the dungeon. His swollen left eye made it hard to see. When they were on the wrong side, or at the wrong angle behind the wooden bars he and the other inmates were kept behind. But Sagir¡¯s eyes were keen, even like this. Nene and Ceyhan had taught him well. And even though the thought saddened him, he would not trample on their memory.


    ¡°For the length of this journey, you¡¯ll bear the rank of cornet,¡± said Beotold, sallet and heater shield hanging at the side of his saddle. ¡°You assume no authority over my men except when I hand it to you. Understood?¡± His eyes were focused ahead, not honoring the patrician with even a look.


    Genhard sighed, stifled. ¡°My Captain,¡± he said. ¡°I believe I would be of the rank of lieutenant.¡±


    The other knight, riding far at the front of the transport, fell back with a violent yank of the reins on his black bay steed. His armor was of an older style, less embellished than that of his superior, but just as enchanted. A thick gambeson over thick white steel, with plenty of maille falling over his hips. Surcoats had fallen out of fashion with many noblemen. But Romund still held onto the colors of his family with much pride. ¡°Cornet Genhard?¡± asked the drum-like bass monotone. The lieutenant didn¡¯t wait for an answer and smacked the patrician over the head with his gauntlet. Romund¡¯s left pauldron was also larger, so much that he didn¡¯t need a second rondel over his armpit. ¡°Speak up like a proper man, or not at all.¡±


    ¡°A proper officer of our Margrave would not fail at a simple task like yours, cornet,¡± said Beotold. The blue eyes, like steel, did not waver. The captain¡¯s chaperon sat perfectly on his combed blonde thatch, and his face was shaven clean. ¡°Thus, you will be treated as a squire on this task ¨C until you prove your worth as a line magician.¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± replied Genhard. He held his head and adjusted the red-gray felt hat that accentuated his sideburns. ¡°I have repelled the attack and no criminal¨C¡± continued the patrician. His disgruntled tone was interrupted by another slap, harder than the one before. The gaze he felt made him swallow his words.


    ¡°And all but you were killed by a single peasant and his savages.¡± For the first time, Beotold looked back and his perfect teeth flashed between his words. Smiling like nothing Genhard nor Sagir had ever seen before. Emphasizing each and every single word. ¡°Who escaped,¡± added the knight. ¡°And ruined my perfect plan.¡±


    ¡°I am deeply sorry. His Honour, Sir Arnfred, has entrusted me with the escort,¡± said Genhard and bowed his head in hopes to sound as humble as possible, and get less slapped. ¡°Unlike my older brother, I am not trained in matters of war, but as a guild enchanter. I am merely following my contractual duty to serve at the mines until my time is up.¡±


    Turning away, back front, Beotold slowed down to fall back with his steed. ¡°I am sure your brother is a proper man of war,¡± said the cavalier baritone. ¡°And wouldn¡¯t have failed.¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡± The patrician¡¯s hand slipped towards the wound in his face as his body slouched down.


    ¡°Lieutenant Romund,¡± interrupted Beotold, and gained his second¡¯s attention without delay. ¡°Pick five men for reconnaissance, the other ten stay with us.¡± His bright white teeth flashed even more, self-satisfied. ¡°Cornet Genhard,¡± ordered the knight next and didn¡¯t wait to gain any attention. ¡°You¡¯ll lead them. They are experienced men of our Margrave¡¯s personal regiment ¨C my lance. This peasant is still out there and I want him alive.¡±


    ¡°At your command, my Captain,¡± replied Genhard. ¡°May I ask what this restraint is about? I¡¯ve never heard of this man before, but got briefed on the wildest stories. You called him a mere peasant, but¨C¡± He gulped, sweat building on his upper lip and neck. ¡°He and that Yesilian monster were¨C¡±


    Romund had raised his fist and tightened the reins, picking out five men by tapping them from behind. His superior, Sir Beotold, also raised a fist and waved backwards with two fingers. ¡°Ride up, guildsman.¡±


    The prisoners in the wooden cages, surrounded by soldiers, were no bother to the knight. Sagir leaned forward and looked into the treeline, positioning his ear alone as close as he could towards the officers. He still had no idea why he was here, what he had to do with Zaber that got him into this trouble. There was no way to explain himself or make himself heard. Nor could he bust open the chains that linked him to the men left and right of him and the wooden structure itself. So, the more he knew¡­


    Genhard followed the order, his posture still slouched. Next to Beotold, he looked more than miserable and less than respectable. And he was still not worth a proper look from the nobleman in charge of the transport.


    ¡°This man, Zaber, has served the High King on many campaigns,¡± said Beotold and lost his smile. His eyes squinted for a moment, as if he saw something along the road. ¡°Under the Honourable General Airich of Belge. The brightest military mind of his generation, a true child of the Dragon. What do you know about him, Cornet?¡±


    ¡°I know he has won the King many victories,¡± said Genhard and his horse snorted into his words. The knight next to the patrician turned his head slightly to look down on the horse¡¯s disobedience. ¡°Excuse Bertrich, he¨C¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the name of your horse?¡± asked Beotold.


    ¡°Y¨C, yes?¡±


    Beotold exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. ¡°Continue.¡±


    ¡°Uh¨C, yes.¡± The patrician shook his head. ¡°When I was little, years before I went to the Margrave¡¯s University, the Dragon¡¯s regiment was on leave in Teblen. I believe it was before he was a general. He was said to recruit, and my father considered sending him my older brother.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± said Beotold and nodded. ¡°He was known to recruit young and many foul allegations arose around that. But they were used as marauders and many were taken by surprise by these rabid children. Among them, this Zaber was¡­ some sort of¨C¡± the captain halted his speech, and tightened the grip around the reins. ¡°Some sort of historical footnote. He served as the General¡¯s orderly. Errands, cleaning, and such.¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°A peasant boy? That¡¯s odd,¡± noted Genhard, pulling out an embroidered kerchief to dab his wounds and wipe off the sweat. When he opened his mouth to continue his thought, no words were allowed to leave.


    ¡°The General was the son of an earl on top of his reputation. I squired for a cousin of my father, and a man like Airich would be expected to have multiple squires even. Or one who would be in charge of peasant attendants.¡± The initial respect in Beotold¡¯s voice faded away the longer he spoke. ¡°Eccentricities like that and the breaches of etiquette he committed on the regular can only be done by a man of his strength. The King himself fancied him a friend.¡± Beotold paused once more.


    So far, they¡¯d traveled through Hoam, a large village that bordered Teblen. Filled with fishermen, petty artisans and cattle herders who supplied the city with milk and the fields with manure. The captain had ordered everyone to present themselves dignified without so much as looking at them. But now they were entering the forests and the knight¡¯s eyes began to shift around. ¡°All of this has caused nothing but trouble. Problems that neither the Baronet and his magistrates, nor the Margrave have been able to solve yet.¡±


    Another round of silence fell between the two. Sagir saw the patrician twitch, seeking for words and the courage to say them. The knight in charge of their transport though did not budge. His strong-boned, square face stayed pensive, even when he turned around to look at Genhard. Invitingly¡­


    ¡°S¨C, So¨C¡± stuttered the enchanter.


    ¡°General Airich¡¯s greatest achievement¨C¡± Beotold spoke too.


    ¡°The second Trinity War,¡± interrupted Genhard eagerly, his tenor skipping a pitch. ¡°When he pushed back Mur ad-Din and relieved the siege on Kouv¨¢ntion.¡±


    These were facts most children in Albion, Krasnia, Gal¨¢zion and Yesilia knew, but the specific terms were not well-known. What Genhard did, though, wasn¡¯t impressing his captain. Beotold¡¯s brows narrowed and the simultaneous smile made it look hurtful. The soldiers around the transport were nervous too, hearing what they heard.


    ¡°If you ever disrespect me like this again,¡± chanted Beotold in his perfect dramatic baritone. His tinned hand rested on the hilt of his lavishly ornamented sword, gripping its pommel. ¡°I¡¯ll burn you alive.¡±


    The patrician gulped for everyone to hear. ¡°My¨C¡± he tried to say, but his vocal cords squeezed together in his throat. ¡°My deepest apologies.¡±


    ¡°Anyway.¡± Beotold moved his neck left and right, cracking it for everyone to hear. Emphasizing his every movement. How his hand left his sword, and how he looked back up front and didn¡¯t pay any attention to the merchant son anymore. ¡°Mur ad-Din was a renowned enchanter and warrior,¡± he said. ¡°Maybe the best in the world, making c¨­nstr¨±cti¨­ beyond what any thought to be possible. He elevated Yesilian siege tactics, causing anim¨¡ti¨­ with unthinkable destructive power that no wall could withstand.¡±


    The gears in Sagir¡¯s head suddenly clicked and his eyes widened. His memories of their homeland were few, most of them being about his family and their home. But Nene had told him, as did Ceyhan, whose family had housed Kayseri A?r? Pa?a on campaign, a direct report to M¨±r ad-Din A?a. Hearing the beyaz? talk about this was strange. Zaber had always been close to the Yesilians of Teblen, ever since he settled into the old temple. He and Ceyhan became close friends right after they met. Was this really just about¡­?


    ¡°This is where these savages and this Zaber come together,¡± continued Beotold. ¡°Airich of Belge captured Mur ad-Din, and challenged him to single combat over his freedom. Nobody present on that day could ever believe that the King was truly the most powerful. His Majesty was furious when word reached him¨C¡± The knight formed a fist in front of his cuirass. It and his voice trembled in excitement. ¡°He ordered the Yesilian¡¯s death, making the General break his word. But they traded secrets and only one more was present.¡±


    With his head lowered, Genhard¡¯s breath faltered. ¡°He has his sword¨C¡± muttered the patrician. ¡°If I had slipped, I might¡¯ve¡­¡±


    ¡°He needs them to teach him their animal tongue,¡± said Beotold and looked at a couple of horses between the trees. Before he could point at them and order a soldier to check on the saddled animals, Romund had already moved. ¡°The General¡¯s Will is riddled with holes. Disappeared belongings; cryptic instructions and orders; many foul words about his peers ¨C even about the High King. Nobody can ever know about this. That is why we need that peasant alive, and make sure that he isn¡¯t using the Kunb¨C¡± the Captain slipped over his own tongue. ¡°Konborra¡­¡±


    ¡°Qunbura mi?¡± whispered Sagir to himself. ¡°Qunbara m??¡±


    ¡°Airich of Belge was a hero and his treason will be buried with him,¡± said Beotold, covering up his ineptitude at Yesilian. ¡°Offence against the Crown, keeping dangerous secrets and teaching a commoner.¡±


    Sagir¡¯s fellow inmates murmured all around him. They were just as captivated by their captor¡¯s words as himself. Each of them knew what the Genhard¡¯s expression meant when that pislik beyaz? said commoner. And how hopeless their situation was, knowing that this secret had to be buried. A ¡°Psht,¡± reached for Sagir and pulled at his sullied and torn tunic. As there was more to listen to, the foreigner among them swatted the hand away. He whispered a sharp, ¡°Quiet,¡± glimpsed around, annoyed, and shook his head.


    ¡°The Margrave can¡¯t entrust this important task to a mere line magician ¨C less, a guild enchanter.¡± Beotold and Romund exchanged hand signs and glances that signaled all-clear. ¡°You¡¯ll do your duty to the Kingdom by refining Arcanium, but these roads are riddled with bandits. Word has it that the Archduke of Elbmarch¡¯s subjects have trouble controlling their serfs,¡± he said as Sir Romund closed in on them again and the knights nodded at each other. ¡°With us in charge, you do not need to worry about your life, no matter how proficient this peasant son is at the Arts. Guards and you have shown to be lacking at dealing with him, so do as you are told and we will go easy on you, guildsman.¡±


    ¡°Now go, cornet,¡± barked the lieutenant in his gripping bass. ¡°Our men are experienced at recon; stay put and follow their lead.¡± Romund slapped Genhard on the back before doing the same to his rose gray horse¡¯s ass, sending him off.


    A, ¡°Psht,¡± poked once again at Sagir, which he jerked away from. ¡°Psht! Blackhead.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± snapped the slave at the beyaz? behind him. A young man without teeth, pockmarks and a piece of nostril missing. ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± whispered Sagir angrily.


    ¡°You really friends with the fella?¡± asked the toothless man.


    ¡°Who? I mean¨C¡± Sagir noticed how all eyes in the cage were resting on him.


    ¡°The metal man,¡± said another inmate with muddy hair and ripped apart trousers.


    ¡°What? Yes,¡± nodded Sagir, but kept his face low. ¡°Yes, I am.¡±


    The voice of a woman whispered to him from behind. ¡°Will he come again?¡±


    ¡°Is there another chance?¡± asked the toothless man, snorting involuntarily. ¡°Or are we dead?¡±


    Falling silent for a moment, as the soldiers took notice of the commotion, Sagir snarled. ¡°Seriously,¡± he murmured, baffled by their sudden interest in him. ¡°Yes¨C, yes, he will. By the Stars, he owes this to my brother. As long as he lives, he will come for me.¡±


    A soldier rode up to them, drew his sword and rattled the cage after a hodgepodge of ¡®aahs¡¯ and ¡®oohs¡¯ and gasps and moans. ¡°Shut up!¡± he yelled, shaking his mailled fist at them.


    ¡°Thank you, blackhead,¡± whispered one of them, but Sagir didn¡¯t know where from. His head was still lowered and his thoughts circled around the transport, remembering each detail.


    He lost himself in silent prayer, his eyes closed, and focused on his shackled hands and feet. Pushing carefully against the wooden bars, Sagir looked at the transport¡¯s floor. ¡°We cannot only rely on him,¡± he said. ¡°We need to look out, and prepare.¡±

 Chapter 23 - Day Nine

    Chapter 23


    Day Nine ¨C Night


    Still on horseback, it had become pitch black, with no moonlight to see behind the clouds. Navigating through the bogs and woods took longer than any of them liked, with nothing to help them maneuver the wilds. Mounting his own horse, Zaber suppressed the pain in his ankles as good as he could. Four animals for five ¨C six even ¨C folk wasn¡¯t what they¡¯d planned for. Thyra rode with Torm in the beginning, but at the first opportunity to switch, Buron took over as the more experienced rider. Bitter tears accompanied their getaway for most of the time, but at some point, all of Thyra¡¯s emotions ran dry. All that was left inside her was the feeling of being overwhelmed. Everything happened so quick and she could only think about the words she wanted to share with her mother. The words she missed.


    ¡°Alright,¡± said Buron and raised a fist to make his companions halt. ¡°I think I know where we¡¯re at now.¡± His gaze shifted left and right along the trail, close to the edge of the woods. ¡°There¡¯s a lumber hamlet to the north and a wayside inn a bit further west. Which are we aiming for?¡±


    ¡°Thyra and Zaber need rest, we shoul¨C¡± said Torm, with a yawn slipping in-between his words.


    ¡°The inn,¡± cut Zaber in. ¡°Closer to our goal and wayside means we can get intel on the King¡¯s Road,¡± commanded the broken veteran. He drove his horse up, next to Breg, who was carrying the captured soldier. They had bound and gagged him when Thyra switched horses. ¡°Are your faces known there?¡±


    Breg nodded. ¡°First or second stop when we¡¯re doing escorts west.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± nodded Zaber back. ¡°I wanna talk to that fella here¨C¡± He slapped the Margrave¡¯s soldier on the back, hard. ¡°Before I get less angry.¡±


    Torm had remained silent ever since they escaped. Not for his unwillingness to say anything, but for the pain that choked him up whenever he tried. With what Tonna had said last to him and even more so to Thyra. He felt selfish and hated it, but he remembered his own mother for the first time in years. When the other men carried on and the horses galloped away, the boy was last. He still messed up the gaits and fell behind, now more than ever.


    Soon enough though, dimly illuminated spots between the dark greenery shone through. There was a stone-based timber house with wooden tiles at the end of the trail. Smoke came out of the chimney, because the nights were still cold. If they followed this path even further, they would reach the King¡¯s Road. By the end of their journey, spring will be at its height. A perfect time to hide in the wild.


    ¡°Hooo,¡± said all of them. Coming to a halt, they quickly unsaddled and Zaber, Thyra and their captive were helped down. Nobody was outside and the window shutters were closed to keep the warmth inside. Dim light shone through the cracks and slits and a gas lamp brightened a slice of wood hanging from chains. A carved target with a real arrow sticking out of it.


    ¡°Owner¡¯s name is Glonn,¡± said Buron, as he handled the horses. ¡°A ghastly and old fella, but he¡¯s one of us.¡±


    The unreasonably tall man handled the knocked out soldier as if he was weightless. Stripped him off of his armor and bundled it up in the well maintained gambeson he wore beneath. Meanwhile Torm was trying to stall Zaber, and Thyra stood next to them with no idea what to do with herself. A frantic gaze on her face was about to boil over.


    ¡°Glonn served in the banners of Earl Garnulf as an archer,¡± continued Buron to brief his friends. ¡°He¡¯ll not ask any questions, but got awfully good ears.¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡± stuttered Thyra. ¡°I want to talk to him.¡±


    ¡°Who? It¡¯s late and Glonn¡¯s a cranky bastard,¡± glimpsed Buron at the rugged woman, fiddling with the reins.


    ¡°I want to talk to him too,¡± said the young woman with newfound breath. ¡°Him.¡± She looked right at the soldier Breg was bracing like a puppet. When she stepped forward, she was held back by multiple hands.


    ¡°No,¡± said Zaber and Buron in unison. Even Torm had his mouth opened. Each of them looked at the other¡¯s, as if they could read each other¡¯s thoughts.


    ¡°You ain¡¯t in the right condition for this,¡± commanded Zaber and shook his head.


    ¡°I am¡­ what?¡± Thyra was at a loss for words, anger painting her face red, as if it was about to combust. ¡°I am what? Not in the right what?¡± She shook her hands violently in front of Zaber¡¯s chest and arms, nearly toppling him out of Torm¡¯s arms. ¡°Me and my mother have cared for you, tended to your wounds and hosted you in our home.¡± Her fists were clenched and raised in front of the broken veteran. Touching him ever so slightly, her hands trembled down his chest. Her lips were just as unsteady as her limbs and tears returned to her cheeks. ¡°Don¡¯t. Tell. Me¨C¡±


    ¡°Punch me,¡± interrupted Zaber. ¡°I bet you¡¯ve never punched anyone. Start with someone who des¨C¡±


    The man was right, Tyhra had indeed never been violent in her life. Even as a child. She and her mother had arguments and debates. Sometimes they shouted. But never had she inflicted pain on a fellow man. And never had her body moved on its own like when her knuckles stopped Zaber from speaking. And it damned hurt.


    ¡°Stop interrupting me!¡± she yelled. ¡°And don¡¯t tell me in what condition I am!¡± Thyra¡¯s sharp mezzo rose up as she shook and rubbed her fist from the pain.


    There wasn¡¯t much force behind the punch, as Zaber had moved his head with it. He scratched the scar on his jawline as he turned his face back at the justified anger in front of him. ¡°The boy and I will interrogate the fella. You stay down with them,¡± said the broken veteran, and nodded towards the bald and the tall one. ¡°Clear your head; be angry,¡± he added. ¡°Decide what you wanna do tomorrow. Stay with us or stay behind and live your life.¡±


    ¡°You ever got wasted?¡± Buron butted in and put his hand back on Thyra¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Uh¨C¡± The rugged woman stumbled over her own words, as her face slowly returned to normal. She was still rubbing the pain out of her hand though. ¡°I¨C, I¡¯ve been drunk with mother¨C¡± Thyra hesitated. ¡°When she returned from her travels, she brought wine or spirits.¡±


    ¡°If you ever got wasted is what he asked,¡± repeated Zaber, trying to support Buron¡¯s attempt at brightening the mood.


    ¡°Yes, wasted,¡± said Buron, smiling as Breg punched out the gagged cavalryman behind them with a grisly noise. ¡°Hammered, rat-arsed,¡± continued the scrawny man, reveling in the young woman¡¯s confused face. ¡°Not just drunk; blackout drunk.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Thyra¡¯s eyes widened and she shook her head. ¡°Rat-what?¡±


    ¡°We gotta go before he wakes up again,¡± said the unreasonably tall man from behind, dragging their captive around like he was a buddy.


    The duo of apprentice and mentor moved straight away, while Buron grabbed the horses at their leashes and led them to a stable close-by. Thyra¡¯s head was cleared for now, her anger made room for confusion. Everything was still moving too fast for her. Most of their belongings were still with the animals when the group entered the ominously lit Arrow Inn. Buron went in first, with Breg and the soldier following.


    The bald man spouted a jolly ¡°Evening,¡± into the room and walked right towards an old man behind a counter on the other side of the room. A few barrels and plenty bottles were stored right behind him. ¡°We need room for six; ran into roadside troubles. This one got it bad¨C¡± said Buron and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. ¡°You good, Glonn?¡± A slight limp was acting up on his left leg. The taproom was spacious enough to house about a dozen misshapen tables with four to six stools and chairs around them. Candles and a burning fireplace with a big brown bloodhound in front of it lit the place up enough to see into every corner. A dark staircase made from warped planks led upwards and a chute beneath it hinted at a cellar. The night wasn¡¯t young anymore, but three men in sturdy travel-ready clothes were lurking around. Two shared a table and a bottle, one more sitting alone in front of a dirty mug with foam peeking out.


    An oil lamp lit up behind the counter, illuminating the wall behind Glonn. Mounted on the wall was a majestic warbow and an axe that wasn¡¯t made to cut lumber. Neither the snoring dog, nor the innkeeper looked harmless. Glonn wore a coif that covered up a scar on his forehead and a warm woolen gugel. He squinted at Buron¡¯s friends, inspecting Zaber and the beaten soldier with much care. ¡°Ya¡¯ got hurt or the usual?¡± He quipped after an awful amount of time.


    ¡°Both,¡± said Buron and knocked on the wooden counter. ¡°Got much snoozing above?¡±


    ¡°Neh,¡± grunted the innkeeper. ¡°Big room is free, and a small one for you two.¡± He pulled two heavy iron keys with wooden markers out and placed them in front of his regulars.


    ¡°No need for that.¡± Buron smiled and only took the one for the big room. ¡°These are friends, not clients,¡± he said, turned around and threw the key through the room towards Zaber.


    Just before it landed in Zaber¡¯s open hand, Torm snatched it out of the air. ¡°I¡¯ll handle our friends,¡± said the boy and winked at his mentor, who nodded at him with a tilted head and raised eyebrows.


    Everyone was about to go up, but an, ¡°Ah!¡± sounded through the taproom from Buron. ¡°Not you Thyra,¡± he smiled with squinted eyes. ¡°Breg¡¯ll help Snappy Two and bring our stuff up. You and me, we gotta warm up.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Thyra stopped and turned around. ¡°Yes, sure,¡± she said. ¡°Let¡¯s get rat-arsed.¡±


    Buron raised two fingers and pointed at the bottles in the back. The old man¡¯s eyes reeked of suspicion and the bald veteran recognized it by meeting them with his own gaze. ¡°You know who¡¯re the scoundrels that tried us? We left them on the road to rot,¡± said the scrawny man and grabbed the bottles at their necks, between his fingers. He took two mugs with his other hand. ¡°Anything unusual around these days?¡±


    ¡°Neh,¡± grunted Glonn once more. ¡°Stever, here, walked into a royal caravan. Juicy target for hoodlums.¡± The old man was in very good shape for his age. He looked over at the lone man in the corner next to the counter. ¡°Was it three?¡±


    Leaning back on the counter, Buron didn¡¯t put much effort into looking believable. ¡°Five on horseback. No scum.¡±


    ¡°Then they ain¡¯t Erhand¡¯s gang,¡± said Glonn and drew a barely readable note for Breg¡¯s and Buron¡¯s tab. ¡°Doubt it was Franque¡¯s brigands, even Breg would¡¯ve had trouble with them. Ya¡¯ travelin¡¯ Teblen?¡±


    ¡°West, away from Teblen.¡± Buron shook his head and stepped away towards the table that Thyra picked. ¡°Our friend and his boy got some business to deal with. We¡¯re helping out.¡±


    ¡°Keep an eye out, the dirty Gal¨¢zian¡¯s hidin¡¯ in the mountains,¡± said Glonn and pulled out a couple of thick parchments that were adorned with princely seals. ¡°Archduke¡¯s payin¡¯ thirty taler for him and ten gulden for any of his cronies. There¡¯s also a couple muggers around too. Elbmarch¡¯s full of trouble, unruly rabble and all.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡± Buron limped away and put the bottles in front of his soon-to-be drinking partner. The pair of men on the other side talked about avoiding the King¡¯s Road with all that nobility around, but kept their voices down. The sole man at the fireplace, Stever, was sipping his beer and gave Thyra and Buron an occasional glance.


    ¡°This¡¯ made from juniper,¡± said Buron and sat down. He opened both bottles and filled the mugs. ¡°We¡¯re not sleeping before these are empty.¡±


    The rugged woman took a careful sniff. ¡°Two bottles for three folk?¡± she asked and leaned across the table to whisper, ¡°How much time do you think he needs?¡± and pointed upwards with her eyes.


    With closed eyes, Buron took the first swig. ¡°Two; Breg¡¯s not drinking with us. Doesn¡¯t like to get drunk in public.¡±


    Thyra paused to think for a while, looking back and forth between Buron and her mug. When she finally built up the courage to shrug off her thoughts, she took one big sip from it¡­ and coughed her throat out right after. With her hand in front of her mouth, the rugged woman tried to watch as she was choking.


    ¡°You said you¡¯ve been drunk before,¡± laughed Buron. ¡°What kind of breast milk was that?¡±


    ¡°S¨C, sweet stuff,¡± replied Thyra through the coughing. ¡°Something that tasted good,¡± she added and stared into her mug. Grabbing her chest and inhaling, the young woman downed the schnapps in one go. ¡°Next,¡± she said and knocked the earthenware jar on the table in front of her bald drinking partner.


    ¡°Way to go, girl.¡± Buron kept laughing and poured her another one. ¡°I know we got off on the wrong foot, but we owe you. You and your mother,¡± he said. ¡°I know that, Breg knows and damned I be if Zaber doesn¡¯t.¡±


    The next sip Thyra took was less aggressive, but her entire body shivered from it. ¡°This is the worst day. I¨C¡± she drank more to loosen her tongue. ¡°What am I going to do now? I¡¯ve got nothing. Nobody. She was¨C¡±


    ¡°No, no, no!¡± interrupted Buron, shaking his head. ¡°Drink,¡± he ordered and refilled her mug before it was empty. ¡°Another one. Keep the river running.¡±


    She did as told, but the feelings ¨C the pain ¨C just didn¡¯t leave. Sorrow flooded Thyra¡¯s eyes again as she stared into the liquor. Looking up again, she saw Buron¡¯s face distort as he gesticulated at the unreasonably tall man that passed behind her. Breg headed outside, without even stopping by and Thyra had no idea what was going on.


    ¡°Zaber¡¯ll decide what happens next,¡± said Buron, constantly swigging down on their drink. ¡°He already told you to come with or do whatever. We got a fair bit of coin and he¡¯s not stingy.¡±


    ¡°Why,¡± uttered Thyra. She struggled to find the right words, but Buron waited for her to collect herself. ¡°Why is he making all the decisions? I know you didn¡¯t¨C¡± She halted again and refilled on liquid courage. ¡°I know you have bad history. But I know this even was¨C¡± The rugged woman¡¯s face was turning red again, but she wasn¡¯t tearing up. ¡°It was an accident. All of this is an unfortunate accident. But why are you all so obedient to what he says? He¡¯s so single-minded, my mother¨C¡± Her chest, throat and face were overcome with constricting pain. Thyra choked up again and tried to wash it down, but it wasn¡¯t going away. ¡°You are going to die, this plan is insane. And I don¡¯t want to die, I want to live.¡± She struggled through these words and picked the bottle instead of the mug at some point. ¡°But I can¡¯t be alone. I have nothing and¨C¡±


    ¡°Ever since we ran into him, he was there for us.¡± Buron reached over the table and guided her hand to refill her mug instead of drinking right from the source. ¡°He showed us the ropes; he knew everyone. He made sure we survived,¡± said the scrawny man and smiled through his naturally squinting face. ¡°Me, Breg, Asher¨C¡± He paused, but was adept in hiding his sorrow by means of drinking. ¡°My father was a drinker, this is the only thing we have in common. Sold me off to get more booze,¡± continued Buron with a refreshed face. ¡°Breg¡¯s old man was a blacksmith, weapons run in his blood. A giant arsehole, so he ran away. I don¡¯t know much, but if there¡¯s one thing I know¨C¡± The bald veteran put his hand on top of Thyra¡¯s, looked into her eyes and took away her mug to refill it. ¡°I trust this man completely. If he needs us, we will do everything we can to help. Because we know he would do the same. And that¡¯s why we won¡¯t fail; that blackhead is as good as rescued.¡±


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°So¡­ I can come with?¡± asked Thyra after another swig. ¡°I¡¯m scared. I don¡¯t want to be alone.¡±


    ¡°We got that boy the same way,¡± said Buron. ¡°Breg¡¯ll complain about you, but that¡¯s for me to deal with.¡±


    Just as the colossus¡¯ name was spoken, he entered yet again with a load of their belongings. Breg brought them upstairs, where Zaber and Torm were having a nice chat with their new friend. After brief eye contact, the unreasonably tall man and his bald companion were on the same page and continued their current business.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be joining soon.¡± Buron swirled his mug and smelled it before drinking more. ¡°Anything that¡¯d cheer you up?¡±


    ¡°No¨C¡± replied Thyra, interrupted by a belch. ¡°I need to be sad now. Mother always said to embrace myself, no matter how hard it is.¡±


    The scrawny veteran ran his hand through the regrowing stubble on his head in bewilderment. The room was well heated and the sweat was building up again, fueled by schnapps. ¡°What? No,¡± he said puzzled. ¡°No girl, no. You gotta drink, we don¡¯t do sadness at this table,¡± laughed Buron.


    One drink followed another and both bottles were soon half-empty before Breg even came back. He passed Buron and Thyra a couple of times, each time connecting gazes with his friend. But instead of sitting down, he uttered the word ¡°Outhouse,¡± at them and left for one last time after getting a reassuring smirk and wink from Buron.


    ¡°Damned, folk become real different when drunk,¡± said Buron and leaned onto the table with the same smirk. ¡°I thought you would become more fun, maybe a bit easy when pissed.¡±


    Thyra¡¯s eyes were droopy and her shoulders and head hung low. But that comment made her look up again. ¡°Wha¨C?¡± She restrained a hiccup in the middle of the word. ¡°I¡¯m not pissed, I¡¯m sad,¡± slurred the rugged woman. ¡°And what does¨C¡± she continued but stopped. ¡°Forget it, whenever I don¡¯t understand, it turns out to be disgusting. Me and mother got giggly together, great times. I¡¯m hurt, don¡¯t be mean to me.¡± With each word, her body slouched more over the table, until she rested her head and torso all over it. ¡°Better tell me what you three become, baldy.¡±


    ¡°See, now we¡¯re talking,¡± said Buron, delighted. ¡°Me? I get fucking nasty. Zaber becomes an unbearable sadsack, before he gets really excited to start all kinds of shit and loosen up.¡± Stopping for a brief glimpse at the ceiling. ¡°Our friend Asher¨C¡± Buron held up his mug for a toast. ¡°He tried to rope you into his stupid schemes. Came up with all kinds of horseshit. He always did that, but it was more obvious when he¡¯s shitfaced; cunted.¡± Even with less weight to him, and the same amount of liquor inside him, Buron¡¯s speech held up remarkably well. But he had to wipe his neck and forehead over and over, smirking like an idiot.


    ¡°You really¨C¡± Thyra was about to say, but the door behind her slammed open. Startled, she turned around and saw three men marching in.


    A man in a blemished hauberk, damaged and rusted in several spots. He was short with a prominent belly, but strong in build. A round, bearded face with a crooked nose like Breg¡¯s, broken more than once. Of his two companions, the one walking next to him was his spitting image, only younger, with nothing but peach fuzz covering his chin and upper lip. He and the third one were wearing ill-kept padded jacks and coifs. The last one had a wild beard that overgrew most of his face. Each of them had several knives on them, as if they were collecting. On bandoleers, their belts and even in their boots, without trying to hide any. All wore a gruesome, used, hatchet.


    While Buron¡¯s eyes shifted between them and Thyra, the young woman regained her composure and remembered what she was about to say. ¡°You¨C¡±


    ¡°Beer for me boy!¡± yelled the mailled man through the entire room, attracting everyone¡¯s gaze. ¡°He has become¨C¡± A dramatic pause followed, waving over the young man that could only be one or two years younger than Torm. ¡°A man!¡± He flailed his arms around like he was presenting cattle on a market and his son played into it with swaggered steps across the room.


    Their bearded companion laughed aloud and slapped the kid on the back. ¡°Like a stallion! He pumped, he dumped, and it was over in two minutes!¡±


    ¡°Sit ya¡¯ arse down, Erhand,¡± grunted Glonn and gathered filled mugs on a tray. ¡°I got folks sleeping upfloors. Take ya¡¯ malts and shut it.¡±


    ¡°Eeex~cuse me, your highness,¡± exclaimed Erhand and got the tray over to a free table close to the counter. His two companions were already sitting down when their leader turned around. ¡°Oh, look who we got here,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re also about to become a man ¨C finally?¡± His laughter was as raspy as it was dirty when he looked at Buron and Thyra. ¡°Where¡¯s ya¡¯ sweetcake?¡±


    ¡°I said shut it, Erhand,¡± ordered the innkeeper. He may have been old, but the way he moved and that his eyes exuded authority were impossible to ignore. If one knew what to look for, not even Glonn¡¯s bent over posture could make him harmless.


    The company of outlaws fell silent, for now, but the youthful one among them stared directly at Thyra. When their eyes met, he winked at the young woman showing her shoulders and neck freely. ¡°Hello there,¡± he uttered in passing and waved faintly. The walking beard did so too, but directed it at Buron with another laugh.


    ¡°What¡¯s¨C¡± Thyra dampened her voice and leaned further towards Buron. She took another sip before continuing though. ¡°What¡¯s their deal?¡±


    Turning around and squinting at the new customers, Buron also caught the eye of the man next to the fireplace. He and Erhand¡¯s gang were only separated by a giant sleeping dog. This Stever had an intense stare to him, focused on the scrawny veteran. Buron looked back at Thyra, and refilled each of their mugs. ¡°Forget them,¡± he said. ¡°A local menace; highwaymen too successful to be ignored by the commonfolk, but too small for the liege to act.¡±


    ¡°Highwaymen?¡± Thyra¡¯s eyes widened. The schnapps had come into its full, miraculous effect and her face was trapped in an ongoing smile. ¡°Like The Hanging Forest Hoodlums?¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡± Buron also leaned forward, coming awfully close to Thyra¡¯s face. ¡°You really gotta stop with that booktalk,¡± he said. ¡°This makes you look really stupid; like the boy.¡±


    A chair squeaked over the floorboards. ¡°What you saying about my boy, bugger?!¡± yelled Erhand.


    Buron lowered his head annoyed, sighing and grunting. Both his hands were firmly placed on the table to push himself up. Thyra saw a flash of pain rising through her drinking partner¡¯s face. It forced his eyes shut when he lifted himself up. When he reopened them, he stopped and sat down instead. With a relieved face, the entire taproom fell silent, as an imposing figure stood in the door with cracking knuckles. Most doors were not high enough for Breg to enter without ducking.There was rarely a way to do it without being noticed.


    Both of Erhand¡¯s companions twitched back and forth on their chairs. Stared down by the unreasonably tall man. Nervous glimpses between them were only interrupted by the commanding voice from behind the counter.


    ¡°By the Stars, Erhand,¡± said Glonn and punched the counter. ¡°If you and your boy and your inbred cousin-brother ain¡¯t sittin¡¯ ya arses down, I¡¯ll pick Lynna from the wall and¡­¡± He didn¡¯t finish, but everybody knew.


    ¡°F¨C, fine,¡± mumbled Erhand and sat his arse down. ¡°We¡¯re not starting anything here. But you better think of an apology, bugger, for when we run into each other in the wild.¡± Half of his words were spoken into the foam of his beer, avoiding Breg¡¯s looming presence.


    The unreasonably tall man straightened his beard with both hands and fixed his unruly, long hair, both like salt and pepper. Wandering over to the table his companion and the woman occupied, he unsheathed his seax and laid it open for everyone to see. Buron had pulled a chair for Breg to sit on, but was sidelined for now. ¡°Need a drink first,¡± he said and walked by. Straight towards the counter, no dodging or circumventing any furniture. If something stood in his way, he pushed it to the side, causing more squeaks to fill the room. Erhand¡¯s bearded cousin was ever so slightly in his way. He got barged into and pushed to the side by Breg¡¯s sheer mass. No words of apology, nor eyes of acknowledgment. When the son was about to open his mouth, he got kicked beneath the table to shut up.


    ¡°Water,¡± said Breg, standing tall in front of the counter. ¡°Got some broth?¡±


    Glonn looked just as irked with Breg as with the outlaws, but didn¡¯t say anything. He turned around, and dumped a mug into a bucket of water. ¡°Broth¡¯s cold, and it¡¯s too late for heatin¡¯ it up.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good with me,¡± said Breg and grabbed the mug. ¡°Give me a second mug with cold broth, please.¡±


    A tired grunt was all the confirmation the unreasonably tall man got from the innkeeper. Meanwhile, the man with a beard for a face had shifted his seat closer to the table. The pair of strangers, the sole drinker, as well as Erhand and his companions fell silent while Breg walked back.


    Erhand picked his teeth with his nails. Every once in a while he looked out for the giant, but broke the silence of the room by punching his son¡¯s arm. ¡°Don¡¯t be so fucking hushed,¡± he laughed raspy. ¡°You got your dick wet, let¡¯s celebrate!¡±


    A tremble shot through Thyra¡¯s body. ¡°Erugh,¡± she gagged, interrupting her next sip. ¡°Do really all men talk like this?¡±


    Trying to overshadow the laughter of the other table, Buron was about to choke on his own drink. ¡°No,¡± he coughed. ¡°No; really. Only the worst.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯re you talking about?¡± asked Breg when he arrived. He sat down on the chair that Buron had prepared for him, close-by to his bald companion. Placing both mugs down, he drank from the broth first.


    ¡°If all men are swine,¡± grinned the scrawny veteran, chinking mugs with Breg.


    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Breg with a curt nod.


    The rugged woman grunted out a giggle, grabbing her mouth shut in response. It took a while, but her drinking and thinking slowed down, her cheeks glowing in a rosy red. ¡°Buron said only the worst.¡± She looked back and forth between the two veterans. ¡°But who are the nice ones? It for sure isn¡¯t any of you,¡± she joked, which made Buron smile. He had succeeded in his plan.


    An explosive, ¡°Hah!¡± sounded through the inn. ¡°You said it, not me!¡± yelled Erhand¡¯s son. ¡°She was a screamer, what a broad.¡±


    ¡°And she ain¡¯t the only one,¡± replied the cousin-brother, turning his head towards Buron and Breg in a way that was subtle and not at the same time. All the men were laughing.


    A deep growl blew through Breg¡¯s beard and he downed one of his mugs and brought it down with a loud knock. The same hand that grabbed the mug formed a fist onto the table and Thyra looked concerned at the colossus. Face down, he inhaled and exhaled for everyone to hear. Up until Buron placed his hand on top of his companion¡¯s fist and linking eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. We¡¯ll get rid of him tomorrow and then we can stay outside,¡± said the bald man softly, and rubbed his companion¡¯s hand.


    Another, yet unknown, voice sprung from behind them. ¡°At least,¡± said the lone man next to the fireplace. ¡°At least she wasn¡¯t a sinner.¡± Stever toasted his beer through the room at Erhand¡¯s gang.


    ¡°Oh, damned she was,¡± replied Erhand amused, returning the toast. ¡°But in the good way! Tell him, boy.¡±


    ¡°You say it, pap¡¯,¡± said the boy with foam sticking to the fuss above his lip. ¡°But who knows, the way that one dresses¨C¡± He already sounded tipsy. ¡°Maybe I can score twice in one night? How much¨C¡± Another kick beneath the table interrupted him.


    ¡°Heh,¡± exclaimed the man with a beard for a face and fiddled out a coin from his belt to hammer it onto the table. ¡°I¡¯ll pay for it, Esh¨C¡± Another kick and an intense stare from Erhand followed.


    Thyra had never heard anything like this. Her mouth stood open and her face changed into a different kind of red. Choking up again, she felt another knot in her chest, different from the one that befell her on the way here. ¡°What¨C¡± she uttered and looked at Buron and Breg. ¡°Why¨C¡± continued her befuddlement. ¡°Did I do something?¡±


    But there was no reply for her. Breg¡¯s face had darkened even more and his breath went faster and faster. Until the squeeze on his hand changed.


    ¡°Hey,¡± said Buron to gain his colossal companion¡¯s attention. ¡°You do you,¡± he smiled.


    Startling Thyra, Breg burst out of his chair and stood to full height. While Buron emptied the bottle into his mug, his drinking partner was incapable of averting her gaze from what was about to happen. Even without running, the unreasonably tall man¡¯s legs were long enough to carry him quickly. The bearded man was looking back at the table he ridiculed earlier. The commotion and glimpse he caught was too late though, as the chair beneath his bottom was ripped away by a kick. As the furniture was catapulted through the room, a damp ¡°Fffu¨C¡± accompanied the highwayman¡¯s fall.


    ¡°Shit!¡± yelled Erhand, as he watched his cousin-brother disappear under the table. His hands twitched and beer was splattered over himself and the wood. A hook hit his son on the cheek, flinging him from his seat towards the counter. Erhand tried to reach for one of his knives, but Breg was faster, hardened by many battles. The highwayman¡¯s wrist got grabbed and pinned to the table, twisting it over his body to make him cry out loud.


    Breg''s breath could no longer be heard, and he spoke not a single word. With a strong pull, the unreasonably tall man overwhelmed the foulmouthed gang leader and moved him around like a marionette. Before Erhand could think to reach for a blade with his other hand, the pummeling had already begun. One punch after another, held in space at his twisted wrist, Breg kept going. One, two, three times. Blood spilled over the table and the bandit¡¯s body went limp over the table.


    There was no time to lose for the giant. The hairy cousin wasn¡¯t hurt yet, and about to recover from the shock. Kneeling on the ground, Breg saw him draw steel, ready to ram it into his calf.


    ¡°That¡¯s it, bugger,¡± grasped the bearded man. ¡°You¡¯re dead!¡± These were his last words for the evening, as his head was stomped onto the ground. Knocked once by the tall man¡¯s boot, then again when he hit the ground.


    Stepping further towards the last one left, rolling over the floor, Breg showed no sign of mercy. Stonefaced, he looked down at the boy, knowing he was no kid anymore. At his age, the veterans had seen it all. And that was the way he would treat this whimpering piece of¡­


    ¡°I¨C¡± uttered the boy, with an ill-maintained dagger in hand. ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± He looked up the counter and tried to heave himself up on it. ¡°Glonn? G¨C, Glonn?!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a man now,¡± said Breg grizzled and blew some of his wild hair out of his face.. He picked up the chair he kicked away with one hand, as there was no need to get closer to the blank steel in that boy¡¯s hand. No matter the scuffed gambeson the giant was still wearing.


    Two thrusts to the face, and one kick out of spite to the ribs later, and there was still whimpering to be heard. All customers except Buron had frozen. Thyra¡¯s face was painted in disbelief. The innkeeper looked angry but did not intervene either. Though he had moved closer towards the axe and bow that hung behind him.


    Buron turned around on his chair, sweaty and squinting with a smile. ¡°I am so sorry, Glonn,¡± he said, looking at his partner who was still breathing in heavy enmity. ¡°Our friend Zaber¡¯ll pay for their tap, we¨C¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± interrupted Breg. Holding up his hands to stop anyone from moving, he turned around and faced the sole man next to the fireplace. ¡°I ain¡¯t done.¡± He passed by the snoring dog, who smacked his lips, and stepped in front of the man in his sturdy traveling clothes and beer. ¡°Got anything to say?¡±


    ¡°Uhm¨C¡± Stever sought eye contact with Glonn, who nodded towards Breg.


    ¡°Girl.¡± Breg demanded Thyra¡¯s attention, loud and clear.


    This day was so much, too much that the young woman didn¡¯t know if she should respond, stand up, or had done something wrong. The schnapps had mixed her emotions all into one. Grieving, saddened, insulted, confused, angry. None of them were new, but everything at once on this starforsaken day was just¡­


    ¡°Y¨C, yes?¡± she whispered insecurely when Buron poked at her hand that was grabbing onto the mug. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Come over here,¡± ordered Breg, still imposing himself onto Stever.


    Scared of the consequences, Thyra¡¯s body moved on her own. What she just saw was unlike anything, she had ever read in a book. She remembered what Buron had said before, that Breg wouldn¡¯t like her. But she didn¡¯t think he was out for her either. As soft and silent as she could, the rugged woman lurked behind the unreasonably tall man and nestled her arms around her chest.


    ¡°Break his nose,¡± said Breg and stepped aside. He put a hand on Stever¡¯s shoulder to keep him in his chair. The man was petrified like a woodland critter, trying to blend into the background.


    ¡°I¨C¡± Thyra gulped and put a hand in front of her mouth to not throw up. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Punch him,¡± repeated Breg, and his grab became real hard. ¡°If you ain¡¯t; I will.¡±


    Thyra blinked twice, wiping her forehead off some hair, and chuffed. This man had been mean to her. Or had he? She wasn¡¯t sure who was the sinner this man had been talking about. But he had been mean to someone. He didn¡¯t know what Kraken-like day they¡¯d been through. So¡­ yes. Yes, this man deserved a good knock on the head. He really did.


    Remembering the pain in her fist from before, Thyra slapped the man so hard that the loud ¡®clap¡¯ made the dog open his eyes. With four fingers imprinted on Stever¡¯s cheek, her work had been done. Thyra¡¯s palms were robust and full of calluses from a life of work in the marshes. Staring at her hand, she remembered¡­


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± commanded Glonn. ¡°Enough¡¯s enough. Ya¡¯ will go to sleep now. No roars, no moans, no screaming. A single loud noise and I¡¯ll kick ya¡¯ out.¡±


    Stever gulped once and kept quiet, pressing the cold mug against his cheek. He avoided all glimpses and sunk into his chair.


    ¡°You said it,¡± replied Buron from the other side of the room. He emptied Thyra¡¯s mug and picked her bottle with the last fillings inside up. ¡°Night¡¯s over, let¡¯s go.¡± He grinned and faltered when he stood up, sweating all over when he limped away. Drinking on so nobody could call him a liar without two empty bottles.


    When Breg and Thyra got on their way upwards too, the bloodhound stuck his head out to sniff around. The rugged woman was delighted, her entire head gleaming from the thrill and schnapps. Giving the dog one rub over his head, his nose found its way to Breg¡¯s hand and licked it gently. The unreasonably tall man waited for a moment and let the animal do its thing. When they walked away, it tried to stand up, but couldn¡¯t anymore. Breg paused to stroke its giant ears and head once, calmed down.


    ¡°Ya¡¯ can be glad his ears don¡¯t work anymore,¡± said Glonn, embittered. ¡°Unlike mine.¡±


    The three made their way to the first floor and the taproom was relieved. The room Zaber and Torm had been occupying was straight down the corridor with four doors total. Only a stifled snoring from behind one of them accompanied them. Thyra got exhausted from the few steps, and braced herself against the walls to walk straight. Same for Buron.


    ¡°I had a tavern brawl!¡± exclaimed Thyra when she opened the door without a knock. She stumbled inside and held her mouth shut for a moment, before pressing a finger on her lips. ¡°Pssht. No noises, Glonn¡¯s angry.¡±


    Behind her, the door was pushed shut by Buron from outside. Covertly looking left and right, he grabbed Breg at his salt and pepper beard with two hands and pulled him down. Lips on lips, he braced himself against his colossal companion, while both their eyes closed. A full owl¡¯s hoot in length went by before their faces separated, but their eyed did not, longing for each other.


    ¡°You heard the man,¡± said Buron with his permanent grin, watching Breg smile and straighten his beard. ¡°No noise.¡±

 Chapter 24 - Day Ten

    Chapter 24


    Day Ten ¨C Midnight


    The door fell shut after Breg had brought their final belongings up. While Zaber sat on the edge of one of the beds, staring at their gagged captive, Torm stowed away whatever the unreasonably tall men brought. Four bunk beds for a total of eight sleeping spots were in the room. Old blankets and mattresses were laid out, giving off a musty smell, and two big chests under a wooden window. The first thing they did was open the shutters to let in what little light the moons and stars could offer. Only to be interrupted by a confused moaning from their captive.


    ¡°What now?¡± asked Torm, digging out a fire steel and tinderbox to light a single half-burned candle.


    ¡°Gimme a moment,¡± said Zaber and shook his head out of the stare. Up on his feet, he limped over to the bundle that belonged to Buron and rummaged through it. ¡°Take the candle and see if you can look into his eyes.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing? Let me help¨C¡± Torm stopped and watched Zaber down a flask of poppy tincture in one disgusted gulp. He sighed and walked over to the soldier, widening his eyes with his fingers under the flickering light. ¡°Are you fine? Did the getaway make it worse again?¡± He squinted and moved his head around to get a better view. ¡°What am I looking for?¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s bloodshot,¡± said Zaber and downed a second flask. He looked over at his apprentice and sat back down, right in front of their detainee. ¡°Two knocks from Breg ain¡¯t good for a fella.¡±


    ¡°Fine, yes¡­ what?¡± mumbled the boy, suddenly turning his head around. ¡°Why do we care about that?¡± He continued to look, but only with glimpses. ¡°Too dark; can¡¯t see shit.¡±


    ¡°Hrm,¡± grunted Zaber and scratched the scar along his jawline. ¡°We gotta see. Ain¡¯t looking too good tho.¡± He moved his hands around to direct Torm. ¡°Give him a light tap. Just on the cheek.¡±


    Doing as he was told, Torm retreated towards his mentor. The cavalryman¡¯s head swung back and forth, very slow, without a goal. ¡°Wherr¨C¡± he moaned. ¡°¡¯m I.¡±


    ¡°Fuck, his head is jumbled up,¡± gasped Zaber, and leaned forward. He waved his apprentice to come closer, to position the boy slightly behind himself. With the candle in his back, the veteran¡¯s face looked even more sunken in and dark.


    Torm built himself up to look as big as he could, crossing his arms and resting his hand on the hilt of his bauernwehr. It was the same kind of stance Zaber often took when listening to someone who was about to eat a fist or smell steel. The candle was low so that his youthful, smooth face wouldn¡¯t be seen. At least, that was what he hoped for.


    ¡°Over here; the voice,¡± said Zaber louder, snapping his fingers. ¡°What¡¯s your name, soldier?¡± There was little of the usual grizzle and rasp in his voice. He sounded cold and demanding, focused even. He fell right back into the ways that Torm hadn¡¯t seen until recently.


    ¡°Erm¨C¡± slurred the man, near-unintelligible.


    The veteran gave him all the time he needed, to try again and get it right. ¡°Erm? That your full name, soldier?¡± pressed Zaber after a couple of attempts.


    ¡°¨Cin,¡± added the cavalryman. ¡°Ermin.¡±


    ¡°Give the man water,¡± commanded Zaber and Torm moved again.


    Now that the soldier would be able to see them act and move, the boy knew that he had to play into the charade. Torm grabbed his mentor¡¯s canteen and put it to their captive¡¯s mouth. Most of it missed and dripped all over him, but he drank.


    ¡°How old are you, Ermin?¡± continued Zaber, snapping his fingers every now and then to regain the man¡¯s attention.


    With each messy sip, Ermin¡¯s eyes seemed to open a bit more. ¡°Twenty¡­¡± he uttered. ¡°¡¯n four.¡± As he was nearly throwing up, Torm jumped a step away. ¡°Wh¡¯r you.¡± The soldier was still slurring, but the words weren¡¯t muffled anymore.


    ¡°What are your colors, Ermin?¡± Zaber knew the man¡¯s rank, he had earned his shield fibula that was common for privates all over Albion. But nobody in that kind of armor would have been below that.


    A sudden groan escaped Ermin¡¯s throat and his eyelids twitched. ¡°Ma¡¯ head¨C¡± he said and his arms wiggled under the rope that restrained him. His eyes wandered around his own body and the room, aimless and slow. ¡°Firth lans,¡± he said, squinted and tried to concentrate. ¡°First banner, ¡®o The Magr¨Cffsss¨C¡±


    ¡°Focus, soldier,¡± ordered Zaber. ¡°Keep going. You guildsblood?¡± Zaber leaned forward even more, resting his elbows on his knees. The sweet relief of the poppy flower made itself felt.


    Returning to Zaber¡¯s side, Torm pulled on the veteran¡¯s worn-out gambeson. ¡°What are you on about? Is any of that important?¡±


    ¡°Fall in line,¡± said Zaber without even looking at Torm. ¡°I know how to handle a sold¨C¡±


    ¡°Wh¡¯r you?¡± Ermin¡¯s voice butted in. ¡°Why ¡®m I tied¨C¡±


    Zaber held his hand up to signal Torm to wait. He swiped his hair back, uncomfortable with how silky it still was. ¡°Ermin,¡± he said slowly. ¡°You really need to listen. You got your polished guildarse in real trouble, got that? How many¨C¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯ fath¡¯r¨C¡± Ermin stumbled over his own words, his head nearly collapsing forward. ¡°Ma¡¯ pa works¡­ the stables,¡± slurred the soldier. ¡°I ain¡¯t a g¡¯ldsboy.¡±


    Scratching the scar along his jawline, Zaber snapped again. This time though, he did so at the boy next to him, pointing him over to the soldier. ¡°Keep him awake.¡±


    ¡°Come on, Ermin,¡± said Torm and walked over. He grabbed their captive by the shoulders and straightened him out, leaning him against a bed pole behind him. ¡°Don¡¯t make this difficult.¡± There was an unusual grit to his voice, something he had tried to get right for years now. But this was genuine.


    ¡°Ermin, listen. I ain¡¯t gonna kill you if you work with me,¡± said Zaber, provoking a sudden turn of Torm¡¯s head, with raised eyebrows. ¡°Just tell me how many of you there are and we¡¯ll leave you behind unharmed.¡±


    ¡°You tha¨C¡± Ermin focused on his interrogator with twitching eyelids. ¡°Zab¡¯r?¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight, that¡¯s me,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod. ¡°Answer me and you live. How many were sent to follow us?¡± He ignored Torm¡¯s gaze and pressed on. There was a soft shift in his voice now. ¡°Ermin, work with me. Please,¡± said Zaber, quenching the sizzling voice in the back of his head.


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    ¡°Nob¡¯dy,¡± replied the soldier, nearly choking on his words. ¡°Th¡¯ mage ¡®nd we five.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, Ermin.¡± Zaber¡¯s voice rose and his knees twitched as if he was about to furiously stand up. ¡°You ain¡¯t in a good position here. Who¡¯s that line magician?¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡± A long pause followed, Ermin¡¯s head bobbing back and forth. ¡°Can¡¯t r¡¯memb¡¯r¡­¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s in charge, soldier?¡± Zaber stood up, bracing himself against the pole of the bunk bed he was sitting on. ¡°Ermin, ain¡¯t you wanna see your pa again?¡±


    ¡°Cap¡¯n Beo¨C¡± With a fading voice, Ermin¡¯s eyes shut and opened. The strength in his neck was fading too. Even when Torm shook him, he just repeated, ¡°Beo¨Cth¡­¡± but couldn¡¯t finish. When letting go of their captive¡¯s body, it went limp. Not even reacting to when Zaber pulled out his stiletto.


    ¡°Damned, we losing him,¡± said Zaber and sat down again. ¡°Ermin!¡± he yelled. ¡°How many? How many total?¡±


    No answer. Mentor and apprentice looked at each other without a word, a dozed-off breath in the background. After stowing away his weapon and letting go of the charade, Zaber stood up and walked through the room. His legs were still wobbly, but worked well enough even without Torm¡¯s help. The veteran grabbed Ermin at the hair and came face-to-face with him. ¡°Ermin, the transport. How big is the escort?¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± gasped Torm. He clenched both his fists and punched a mattress. ¡°Fuck!¡±


    Zaber let go of Ermin and sat right next to him on another bed. ¡°A dozen, maybe two,¡± he uttered to himself.


    ¡°And that knight,¡± added Torm dreadfully. ¡°All with the kind of armor these riders had?¡±


    While the boy took strides through the room, up and down, Zaber stared at the scar on the back of his hand while rubbing it. ¡°And his lieutenant. Three mages, two capable ones.¡± The veteran grabbed his own hair and ruffled it, to get that damn feeling out of his head. He ended it with a knock of his palm against his head, trying to shut up Brenz. ¡°We gotta scout for better intel.¡±


    The boy turned around and knelt next to his mentor, looking him dead in the face. ¡°Zaber?¡± he asked with a gloomy undertone.


    ¡°Hm?¡± The veteran was pulled out of his thoughts.


    ¡°Why did you tell him you won¡¯t kill him?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Zaber¡¯s eyebrows narrowed and he grabbed the bed¡¯s sheets to hold on to them.


    Twitching around, Torm stood up and took a step backwards. He looked down on Zaber while a snoring was building up from their captive. ¡°They killed Tonna. Why would we let him live? At least let Thyra¨C¡±


    ¡°Boy,¡± interrupted Zaber with both hands holding onto the cloth beneath. ¡°Do you think I enjoy this?¡± The rasp in his voice had returned and his teeth were grinding. ¡°You have no say in this. And you ain¡¯t touching him, or¨C¡±


    ¡°Or what?¡± Torm returned the interruption, just as harshly. ¡°Don¡¯t boy me. You know how much I hate it.¡±


    Stunned for a moment, the voice in his head and the juice in his veins fought each other. ¡°Not you too,¡± said Zaber and grabbed his own hair, pulling on it while bumping his palm against his forehead. ¡°What am I in your head?¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡± stuttered the boy, rubbing his hands against each other. ¡°You¨C¡± He sighed. ¡°Nothing has ever stopped you from doing the right thing. Your thing. You¡¯ve never stopped¨C¡±


    ¡°Are you fucking with me?!¡± Zaber erupted onto his feet. ¡°I hate this,¡± he said and punched the same spot on the mattress as his apprentice before him. ¡°I try to be¨C¡± Zaber stopped. The words were in his head, even on his tongue, but¡­


    ¡°You killed when we first settled into the temple¡­¡± Torm thought about it, as he was sleeping at the time. The longer he mused over this, the more folk who were still alive came to his mind. ¡°You were set on killing the Morells too. You mowed the prisoner¡¯s guards down like they were nothing. And you¨C¡± The boy¡¯s lips trembled as he choked up. ¡°You killed my mother¡¯s murderers. This is your thing. You do good by¨C¡±


    ¡°Boy,¡± said Zaber and grabbed Torm¡¯s shoulder with his scarred hand. ¡°I do what I need to do. Whatever stands in my way. But I ain¡¯t enjoying this.¡± He looked into the young man¡¯s eyes, tired and grim.


    ¡°Before we went down the shitter, you¨C¡± Torm forcefully smiled at his own words. ¡°You¡¯ve never looked so alive and happy.¡±


    ¡°This ain¡¯t what I like to do,¡± said Zaber, and let go of Torm. He turned around to give Ermin a little kick to see if he would wake up from it or move. No response. ¡°It¡¯s what I¡¯ve been made for. If sparing them would¡¯ve been out there, I would do so. And if I need to kill each and every one of them to get Sagir back, I¡¯ll murder my way through the whole kingdom. And this fella here, this¨C¡± he sat back down next to him. ¡°Ermin. He¡¯s like me. Like Asher, Breg and Buron. They tell him what to do and he does it. They couldn¡¯t give less a shit about him if he dies or lives.¡± Leaning forward, the veteran closed his eyes. He leaned his face onto his palms to run them into his irritating hair again. ¡°I know this, Breg and Buron know this¡­ and so did Asher.¡±


    Torm gasped again. He held a fist with his other hand, looking for something to punch, but couldn¡¯t find anything. ¡°I know,¡± he mumbled. ¡°But Thyra¨C¡±


    ¡°No, you ain¡¯t,¡± said Zaber through his own thoughts, pulling his hair back. ¡°And that¡¯s how I¡¯ll keep it. You¡¯ll be better than me; happier. This¡¯ my only chance¨C¡±


    Pacing through the room, Torm sat down next to his mentor and wrapped an arm around him. ¡°Man, can you not say it like that?¡± he said with another forced smile. ¡°I love Sagir too. We¡¯re in this together. You, me, tall and limpy down there. I thought we went through this back in Teblen? You¡¯re not doing this all by yourself.¡±


    Letting go of himself, Zaber exhaled relieved. He didn¡¯t resist the hug, even went full in. He truly loved this boy and only the Stars knew what would¡¯ve happened if they¡¯ve never met. Where Torm¡¯s voice was trembling, hinting at a sob, Zaber¡¯s face and voice stood still. ¡°I gotta fix this. I promised. And¨C¡± he paused. ¡°And they captured¨C¡± he paused even more. ¡°They¡¯ve killed Asher. On top of everything, they took Asher.¡±


    They remained like this for a while. It may have been their longest hug ever, unable to say anything more. Torm wanted to say more, but didn¡¯t know how to, while the mentor was looking past the apprentice¡¯s shoulder. At the weapons that laid on the other side of the room, next to the bed he was going to sleep in. Lay in. Think in. Wait for the next morning¡­


    ¡°Let me tell you who I¡¯m going to kill, though,¡± uttered Zaber as they separated.


    ¡°That knight?¡± asked Torm with a genuine smile.


    ¡°That damned knight,¡± replied Zaber, also smiling. ¡°He¡¯s gotta be behind this; ordered by the Margrave, or Baronet.¡± Rising again, he walked through the room towards his lange messer, picked it up, and unsheathed it to inspect how well Breg mended it. ¡°We fell for his horseshit. He probed us and I slipped. This whole thing is about Airich¡¯s¨C¡±


    ¡°Zaber?¡± Torm¡¯s voice rose softly when Zaber struggled to find words once more. ¡°You¡¯re not like him.¡±


    ¡°I try,¡± replied Zaber, but the smile on his face was still there, murderous, sizzling in the back of his neck. Staring at the pale reflection of the candle¡¯s light on the blade, he shook his head and sheathed it away with a loud ¡®chink¡¯. ¡°I need some more of that juice.¡±


    ¡°Wait, you sure?¡± said Torm and both of them moved towards Buron¡¯s baggage. But the same moment, the door burst open and Thyra nearly tripped over her own feet.


    ¡°I had a tavern brawl!¡± she said, leaning against the frame and holding her own mouth shut afterwards.

 Chapter 25 - Day Ten

    Chapter 25


    Day Ten ¨C Morning


    A cold night was ended by the warm spring sun, bringing forth a melancholic mist in the early morning. Four men and a woman stepped out of the Arrow Inn, all paid and ready to saddle up.


    ¡°Are you really fine with leaving that bastard behind?¡± asked Torm after the door fell shut. Zaber had left their captive enough coin so that Glonn wouldn¡¯t let him die when he found him upstairs.


    ¡°Why bastard?¡± Thyra yawned, trying to get her hair under control without a comb. ¡°I thought his father worked the stables,¡± said the rugged woman, frustrated at the mess on her head.


    ¡°I¨C¡± Torm halted, blinked, then rubbed the gunk out of his eyes. ¡°I insulted him. You know¡­ for killing¨C¡±


    ¡°Right, don¡¯t worry.¡± Thyra forestalled Torm¡¯s thoughts and smiled at Buron and Breg. The three veterans didn¡¯t speak while they walked towards the small stables between the road and the inn. ¡°I will be sad for a while, but I¡¯m alright. Astonishing enough, Zaber¡¯s explanation made sense to me,¡± she said. ¡°And as King Bercier in the Mailin King said: I don¡¯t aim for the rivers when an ocean lies ahead of me.¡±


    Torm was about to halt and look at her in overplayed befuddlement, but his companions didn¡¯t wait. ¡°What?¡± said the boy, catching up.


    ¡°It¡¯s a story from Gal¨¢zion¡¯s western horn and the isles. A mythical king who defied the Kraken and set out for a magical island,¡± said Thyra nasally.


    ¡°Wow,¡± replied Torm, blinking several times. ¡°I finally get what you fellas feel like when I¨C¡±


    ¡°Listen up, ladies,¡± interrupted Zaber when they set foot into the stables. He and Buron were limping ever so slightly. Zaber¡¯s stubble had grown unevenly and he had deep dark rings around his eyes. ¡°Huh¨C¡± He felt his increasingly oily hair when he stepped in front of everyone. ¡°This ain¡¯t working as well with a girl around,¡± said Zaber, looking at Thyra.


    ¡°Was¨C¡­ Is¨C¡± Thyra stuttered and shook her head confused. ¡°Is that supposed to be bad?¡±


    ¡°No? I¨C¡± Zaber scratched the scar along his jaw. ¡°Anyway. Ermin wasn¡¯t that helpful, so we¡¯re still at a disadvantage.¡±


    ¡°We face two knights and a line magician.¡± Breg butted in, straightening his hair and beard that were as messy as the rugged woman¡¯s. Nobody among the companions looked well rested, though the reasons were very different. ¡°No matter the plan, we¡¯re fighting an uphill battle.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± nodded Zaber. ¡°we need more intel. Buron, pick a nag for Thyra. She¡¯ll be riding with me and the boy. You two take the right side of the road, we the left side,¡± ordered Zaber, making Buron move with a quick salute and squinty smile. ¡°I¡¯m sure the transport is ahead of us, but we gotta make sure. They ain¡¯t fast with the cages, so we need to make the best of our mobility advantage. Torm ain¡¯t a good rider and we¡¯re loaded with heavy shit too,¡± said Zaber and looked at his apprentice and then at the young woman next to him. ¡°Last chance; you in or out? I¡¯ll give you some coin, water and a blade. There¡¯s no shame in running.¡±


    Thyra hesitated and her eyes touched the ground for a brief moment. She swallowed and took a deep breath. ¡°Have you slept at all? How are your feet?¡± She asked with a smile. ¡°If you take my medicine without my permission again, I¡¯ll pinch your ear off.¡±


    ¡°Bit of a bite left, nothing that hinders me from riding,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod. ¡°Tomorrow I¡¯ll be busting heads again,¡± he added and Torm¡¯s face cheered up. ¡°And you need to up your threats if you want to impress me. We¡¯ll have a nice long talk on horseback later.¡±


    The unreasonably tall man saddled their horses while his bald companion inspected the three animals he assumed belonged to Erhand¡¯s gang. He looked at their hooves, ran his hand through their manes, pinched their skin for fat and muscles and inspected their joints and heads. When he pulled their mouths open and grabbed their tongues to keep them open and his hands safe from being bitten, a shiver went through Thyra.


    ¡°Welcome to the party,¡± said Buron, slapping the back of a black drayhorse with white feet. While Breg picked a saddle from within the stable to dress the animal up, the scrawny veteran turned towards Thyra. ¡°New recruits will be hazed,¡± he laughed with a squint.


    ¡°Haz¨Cwhat?¡± asked the young woman while the reins were pressed into her hands. ¡°I¡¯m too tired for this, can you just talk normal?¡± Her hands twitched back and forth as she tried to pet the horse¡¯s nose while it nibbled at her.


    ¡°Forget it,¡± interjected Zaber and rubbed the horse at the neck, making it groan and lean into it. ¡°These are pretty thin,¡± he said, looking at Buron. ¡°What¡¯s a good rendezvous point ahead of us?¡±


    ¡°Oh, there is a beautiful, drowsy mill ruin about forty furlongs along the King¡¯s Road,¡± said Buron and swung himself up the stirrups of his pinto. They made sure to get out before anyone else was up and Breg had packed most of their horses already. ¡°Can¡¯t miss it, right up a hill at a crossing. Very popular with folk like us.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget to bring flowers,¡± grizzled Breg¡¯s voice. He mounted the dark beast he had picked, towering even higher than before.


    ¡°Daisies are your favorite, ain¡¯t they?¡± asked Zaber in all seriousness. ¡°Y¡¯all know the routine, do what we do best,¡± ordered the recovering veteran, as he and Breg stared each other down. ¡°Now get your arses out of here, we¡¯ll meet at that romantic hideout before sundown. If we get good intel, we can up the pace.¡±


    Packed with armor, weapons and bundled up their belongings, Buron and Breg glimpsed at each other. ¡°You heard the man,¡± said Buron, winking at his giant companion and out they were.


    ¡°You take my dapple,¡± said Zaber and took away the reins of Thyra, pointing at the gray and white spotted horse he rode the day before. ¡°This one¡¯s not properly trained for riding, you two ain¡¯t right for it.¡±


    A brief explanation of how to control her animal with her thighs, heels and the reins followed. Thyra learned what the bit and bridle were supposed to do and what words a well trained horse understood. For now, one gait was all she needed, but Zaber would teach her more along the road. The young woman had only seen crude depictions of these animals before, or beautiful prose about them. But the power beneath her felt frightening and frustrating at once. Most of the movement was controlled by Zaber though. He never once let go of the horse, always keeping one hand close to intervene. Thyra and Torm were fascinated by how this rude and at times inept man was able to make a beast like this calm down. He scratched it at the right spots, or cuddled it the right way.


    ¡°I think she¡¯s getting the hang of it,¡± said Torm after a while, after they¡¯d traveled a couple hundred yards down the road. He rode half a horse¡¯s length behind them, watching closely. The boy was able to keep his chestnut colored horse under control, but it sometimes did whatever it felt like. Zaber had to re-explain some older lessons to him, or give it the right command.


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± nodded Zaber, leaning to the side on the drayhorse. He had to try a couple of times to find the commands it was trained for. Simple clicks with his tongue turned out to be the most effective, which meant it was used to a cart and crop. ¡°You good?¡±


    ¡°Ye¨C, yes,¡± answered Thyra, barely able to keep the horse from going too fast or slow. ¡°I¡¯ll call him Bercier, smart and strong.¡± She smiled, while bumping up and down.


    ¡°It¡¯s a she,¡± said Torm, popping up right next to her on the opposite side to Zaber. ¡°Mine¡¯s too. I think I¡¯ll call her Scony,¡± he smiled and petted its mane.


    ¡°What a nice name! What does it mean?¡± Thyra tried to look to the side, but her eyes were glued to her hands and the road.


    ¡°His first girl,¡± said Zaber dryly. ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can get you to trot and canter by the end of the day.¡±


    ¡°Really? That¡¯s kinda mean.¡± The rugged woman looked to the side, bewildered. Zaber grabbed her reins to keep her horse from sprinting. ¡°What¡¯s yours?¡± she asked Zaber, not waiting for Torm¡¯s reaction.


    ¡°Horse,¡± said Zaber.


    ¡°Oh, come on!¡± exclaimed Thyra with Torm snorting a laugh behind her. ¡°Play along, how about¨C¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± interrupted Zaber. ¡°The nag¡¯s Airich. Happy?¡±


    Looking at each other, bewildered, Torm and Thyra fell silent for a while. Without speaking, both were musing if Zaber had chugged from the poppy juice without asking again. But as tense as he was, twitching eyes at every moving shadow behind the trees, shrubs and mounds¡­


    ¡°Why?¡± asked both companions at the same time, varying in pitch and tone. Each wanted to let the other one speak first, resulting in a mess of, ¡°I¨C¡±, ¡°You¨C¡±, and unfinished questions about the man behind the name that Zaber hated so much.


    ¡°Every horse I had died,¡± said Zaber, his gaze fixed ahead. ¡°First one broke a leg; had to put it down and ate it later.¡± He let go of Thyra¡¯s reins to scratch the scar along his jaw. ¡°Naming it after him will at least make it funny when it bites the dust.¡± A small lipped smirk built up in the veteran¡¯s face.


    Torm remembered when they lived with the horse Zaber inherited. An old but beautiful beast of which his mentor took more care than any other creature. Never had the boy seen Zaber as disheartened as after its death. He even held a funeral outside of Teblen. Now that he was older and thinking about it, Torm frowned. All the fights and plans to murder the Morells, after their arrival, happened right after Patina died.


    ¡°Way to kill the mood,¡± said Torm and forced a smile. ¡°Where we heading now?¡±


    ¡°Just follow my lead, I¡¯ll explain later,¡± yawned Zaber and rubbed his nose and eyes. His lids and head felt heavy with the thoughts that kept him up. ¡°We gotta settle something else first,¡± he said. ¡°Thyra?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± The young woman looked to the side, holding onto the reins uptight. ¡°Are you alright? You seem¨C¡± She paused, which Torm took as his cue to jump in.


    ¡°You look horrible, man,¡± said the boy. ¡°Not the worst, but far from¨C¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± nodded Zaber. ¡°Y¡¯all are concerned, thanks for that.¡± And they weren¡¯t wrong. He still felt as if the gutter was crawling through his veins. No matter that the juice made him relax and sleepy, his head didn¡¯t shut the fuck up. With how much he failed his promise to Ceyhan, the ghosts were laughing at him constantly it seemed. When he wasn¡¯t thinking about the poppy juice, Zaber was planning and scheming¡­ which made him think about Asher. An out of control spiral, with a seething voice commenting on everything at the back of his neck. ¡°I want you to teach me how to sing,¡± ordered the veteran.


    ¡°Oooh,¡± exhaled Thyra, not too surprised. ¡°No, I can¡¯t. This takes years, and you don¡¯t even know the old tongue, nor do you¨C¡±


    ¡°Wait, this is your great plan? I thought you¨C¡± said Torm.


    Everyone was talking over each other now, so Zaber spoke louder and more demanding. ¡°I only want to learn two spells,¡± he said. ¡°I heard them a hundred or more times and I tried over and over. But it just ain¡¯t¨C¡± The veteran paused, grumbling and grinding his teeth. ¡°The ones inscribed into the sword. Both sides are different, one sets it on fire, the other is a burst of flames.¡±


    ¡°You mean new magic? I don¡¯t know any of these,¡± replied Thyra, and looked backwards. She nearly toppled off the horse, but got stabilized by Torm¡¯s hand. She tried to get a glimpse at the bundle behind Zaber. ¡°I might understand how enchantments work, but we didn¡¯t have any. Arcanium isn¡¯t used in most old traditions. The knowledge of it only spread through the Iridian Empire.¡±


    Airich¡¯s sword was hidden away among gear that sat on Zaber¡¯s horse¡¯s rear end. Bundled together into bags that hung from the sides and one right on top. Each of the companions had a knapsack as well, bound behind their backs and across their chests. They traveled lightly, with not much spare clothing, as their weapons, armor and provisions took up enough space. Zaber wore his old attire again, gambeson, breeches and boots. As he¡¯d lost his own armor, Ermin¡¯s was good enough as a substitute.


    ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out,¡± said the veteran. ¡°You said all magic got the same rules. If I tell you the words, you can work out the¨C¡± He paused to remember Thyra¡¯s words. ¡°Pitch, or harmony? Or whatever. You gotta know at least some fire songs, ain¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I want to learn too.¡± Torm swept in before Thyra could say something. ¡°They have three mages. Teach both of us and we have three too.¡±


    With the feeling of a knot in her neck and chest, the rugged woman choked on her words. Until recently, she was the student. The thought of teaching what her mother taught her felt like a bunch of pebbles in her guts. She didn¡¯t even know all the songs from their books yet, which is why her mother threw one old songbook into her bundle. Now she was expected to make these men able to fight the monstrous magic she only knew from stories? Her mouth opened and closed more than once, and her mind went blank.


    ¡°Boy, you can learn as much magic as you want after we¡¯ve freed Sagir,¡± said Zaber, clenching a fist around the reins and scratching the scar on his jaw again. ¡°And kill that Beotold.¡± The rasp in his voice dampened. ¡°And this sword is mine, not yours.¡±


    ¡°F¨C, fine,¡± stuttered Torm and bit his lip. He had been scolded before, disciplined even. His mentor treated him harsh in training, but never like that. ¡°You fine with teaching me when this is over?¡± The apprentice looked at the young woman to his side. ¡°Thyra?¡± he asked when he saw her watered eyes. ¡°Thyra? Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± swallowed Thyra her sorrows before actual tears ran down her face. A shiver went down her spine and she faced the broken veteran. Life wasn¡¯t easy anymore, and this uneasy man owed her, yet he made the demands. ¡°I¡¯ll teach you if you teach me,¡± she said. ¡°Swordplay, riding, and¨C¡± Thyra paused, pressed her thighs together and held the reins high. ¡°You want to kill the knights? I¡¯ll make you sing fire, but the other mage belongs to me.¡±


    ¡°Deal,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod. ¡°The spells were like¨C¡± He wanted to get right to the point, but needed to think long and hard. ¡°In volocro igni; making the sword steel burn or so. Seen it work on armor too. The other one is¨C¡± Closing his eyes, his lips moved in a silent recital of his memories. ¡°Ignam vocu. This is the more important one. A blast of fire.¡±


    ¡°Like that Captain¡¯s thunder?¡± asked Torm, running his hand through his hair and rubbing his head. ¡°What was he singing? Maybe there¡¯s a pattern.¡±


    Zaber grunted affirmatively. ¡°Good thinking, a lot of the officers sounded the same.¡±


    The shape and sounds of a cart, ahead on the road, became apparent soon enough. The veteran shut the conversation down with a hand sign, and pointed ahead into the waning morning mist. A man in his prime led a sagging ox, dressed in red chausses, sturdy blue linen and a gugel to keep his head covered. An axe made for labor and a hiking pole stood out to Zaber.


    ¡°Hooo.¡± Zaber slowed his horse down and took control of Thyra¡¯s once again. ¡°Here¡¯s the story: We¡¯re all siblings from Teblen and the prison transport got your betrothed. He got sentenced for raping you, but you lied and now you¡¯re out to withdraw your accusation. I¡¯ll do the talking, you and¨C¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s a horrible story!¡± shivered Thyra at the thought, with her mezzo voice rising. ¡°I don¡¯t want to play that part.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± sighed Zaber with rolling eyes. ¡°He beat you, but you want to forgive him.¡±


    ¡°What? That¡¯s just as bad,¡± said Thyra, and tried to pull the reins out of Zaber¡¯s hands. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a victim or liar.¡±


    With an aimless gaze into the woods, the veteran rubbed the scar on the back of his hand. He placed the same hand on his chin and pulled his head sidewards, bringing forth a terrible crack from his neck. ¡°Girl,¡± he said. ¡°You ain¡¯t in these woods anymore. This world is plenty different.¡± He pulled out a prepared cloak and kerchief from the makeshift saddlebags of his horse. ¡°We gotta make this believable. Make you believable. Peasant¡¯s ain¡¯t as judgmental as the cityfolk, but you can¡¯t run around like in your bog anymore. Swing your legs around the saddle, sideways.¡± Zaber demonstrated the motion and how it ought to look, making Torm twitch, scared that he might fall. ¡°And it¡¯s even more important that you cover your hair, chest and shoulders, or nobody is going to talk to you. Only folk you don¡¯t want to talk to will come at you.¡±


    ¡°Why ride like that?¡± asked Thyra, astounded by the quick display of acrobatics. She lifted a leg above her horse¡¯s head, like Zaber did, but entangled her skirt with the reins, the animal and the saddle. Only when Torm lent her a hand did she make it. ¡°This is uncomfortable. How do I even use my thighs like you told me to now?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t,¡± said Torm with a smirk. ¡°You¡¯ll look mighty strange, no matter what. A woman, dressed like you, on her own nag.¡±


    ¡°Help her with this too, Torm.¡± The mentor threw his apprentice the cloak and the kerchief to the rugged woman. ¡°We gotta get her her own clothes when we¡¯re done,¡± he added. ¡°This is my winter and night cloak. You¡¯ll look somewhat shady in it, but at least not indecent.¡±


    ¡°Hear me out,¡± replied Thyra, staring into the sky, musing. ¡°My beloved is on that transport, still¨C¡± Her eyes brightened as she folded the cloth around her head, hiding her unruly hair. ¡°He¡¯s on there for murder; innocent! We have proven it, the real culprit has been found. Or turned himself in, or whatever,¡± she continued, getting the cloak buttoned around her neck and shoulders.


    ¡°¡¯aight, if that works for you, we¡¯ll go with it,¡± nodded Zaber. He gesticulated at his apprentice with the cloak, instructing him from afar. ¡°Torm¡¯s still your brother. You ain¡¯t traveling alone with two strangers.¡±


    ¡°Pull the cloak up,¡± said Torm, straightening the fabrics on Thyra¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Showing neck or hair will make their pants pop. Proper and stuck-up folk might not talk to us if they think you¡¯re a dirty wench.¡± He tried to make it work, but her proportions and Zaber¡¯s were too different to make it look natural. Seeing the young woman¡¯s frustration rise, Torm yielded his hands from her.


    ¡°Wow,¡± exclaimed Thyra, baffled. ¡°This is so stupid. I thought mother was exaggerating.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± said Zaber and clicked his tongue, giving the draft horse a gentle tap. ¡°I¡¯ll talk, you two play your roles. Give away as little as possible.¡± He grabbed the reins of his horse and the one next to him, waiting for a sign that his companions understood.


    ¡°What¡¯s my lover¡¯s name?¡± Thyra nodded, seriously, and straightened her back in a way that proper ladies were depicted in her books. It did not work too well.


    ¡°Kell,¡± said Torm and nodded too. ¡°He¡¯s a silly little man. Good-hearted but¨C¡± he paused to seek for the right words. ¡°Opposite of Zaber.¡±


    While Thyra and Torm had a good chuckle, Zaber inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. Clearing his head, even he smirked about it. The three of them made their way up to the shadowy figure ahead in the mist. The hooves of their horses announced them and the man turned around to greet them with an open face.


    ¡°Blessed be you, my¨C¡± said Zaber, but was cut off before his and the peasant¡¯s eyes met.


    ¡°I have nothing worth robbing. Just a¨C¡± grumbled the man, then stopped and inspected each of them, with heavy emphasis on Thyra. ¡°Oh damned,¡± he said. ¡°I thought you were someone else. I¡¯m deeply sorry.¡±


    ¡°Who did you think we were?¡± asked Thyra, slowing her horse down under guidance from Zaber.


    The ox-driver took a look up and down the road, making sure that nobody else was coming, or hiding. ¡°Wretched fella by the name of Erhand. You ain¡¯t from here?¡±


    ¡°Oh, we met,¡± said Zaber after a moment of awkward silence. He stared at Torm and pointed at the peasant in front of them with angry nods.


    ¡°Sorry¨C¡± coughed the boy. ¡°My sister, here¨C¡± He waved over to Thyra, introducing her, accompanied by a shy smile from the young woman. ¡°And I had an unfortunate encounter with Erhand and his two thugs. Our guide took care of them in a nearby inn, w¨C¡±


    ¡°Wait up!¡± exclaimed the peasant, excitedly. He stopped walking, and the ox-cart he steered. ¡°That¡¯s his nag. You killed that son of a whore?¡±


    ¡°Not killed,¡± said Zaber, showing no emotions. ¡°Took it as compensation. Knocked his arse out.¡± Spitting on the road, the veteran walked his horse next to their new friend. ¡°We need directions, you good to ask?¡±


    ¡°Damned I am!¡± The man spit in his hand and reached for Zaber to shake it. ¡°Thank you so much, I¡¯m Gorde. Fuck him and his Kraken-forsaken cousin.¡±


    The mere memory of the last night put a stupid smile on Thyra¡¯s face that was so contagious that Torm snorted a laugh too. His mentor gave his two companions a glimpse that made them shut up in an instant. ¡°We looking for a fancy-schmancy caravan. Prison transport, high profile; seen it?¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± the man thought. ¡°Heard about it on the yester, but didn¡¯t see it myself. Why you asking?¡±


    ¡°Nothing special.¡± Zaber shook his head curtly. ¡°We gotta catch up to it. What and where did you hear about it?¡±


    When the peasant¡¯s face changed even the slightest in a suspicious way, Torm jumped in. ¡°My sister and I have to make a plea of innocence for her fianc¨¦. Or he¡¯ll be taken from us forever.¡±


    Thyra added a weak moan and grabbed her heart. ¡°My beloved.¡±


    ¡°Her beloved,¡± repeated Torm with his best puppy-eyes.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Zaber sighed and closed his eyes frustrated.


    ¡°Woah,¡± whispered the peasant. ¡°What an adventure you¡¯re on. Good you two got yourself some good muscle.¡± He looked into the foggy horizon, slightly off the road. ¡°My village, Woadan, is down the next turning. Folk there might have heard more, lots of them are on the road to prepare the fields for sowing.¡±


    ¡°What are you transporting?¡± asked Thyra out of nowhere, attracting Zaber¡¯s angry eyes again. The boy tried to interrupt her, mimicking her to stop, but it was already too late.


    ¡°Oh, me? We got ourselves a second beast of burden,¡± said the peasant and pointed at the cart¡¯s load bed. ¡°Asked our liege if his blacksmith can make us a second plough.¡± He slapped the side of the oxen, laughing delightfully. ¡°This old fella¡¯s gonna get laid soon. Breed us some new cattle between sowing and harvest, after we lost the mules over winter.¡±


    ¡°Please excuse my sister¡¯s nosiness,¡± said Torm before Thyra could go on. ¡°This is her first time outside of Teblen.¡±


    ¡°¡¯precciated if my questions ain¡¯t drowned out by her jabbering,¡± said Zaber, adding extra rasp to his voice and staring down his companions. ¡°I¡¯m paid by the day and I ain¡¯t cheap.¡±


    ¡°Sure, sure. What was it again?¡± asked the peasant. ¡°Heard it from the blacksmith¡¯s apprentice, who heard it from a servant in our liege¡¯s manor. Said it was a big one, ¡®spenny armor and all.¡± The man rubbed his thumb and fingers together to hint at the value. ¡°Our liege regrets not hosting them fancy city knights.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, that¡¯s all,¡± said Zaber, nodded and spat in his hand for another shake. Grabbing his and Thyra¡¯s reins, he spurred both horses to speed up a bit ¨C as much as they could with the saddlebags. The young woman was stunned by how fast they left, while Torm nodded and tipped his tilted felt cap.


    ¡°Why¨C¡± The cloaked woman tried to not fall off her horse, now that she had to sit in a stupid way. Another thought crossed her mind when she clung to the saddle. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be better to travel with him to the village? Gain his trust?¡±


    ¡°We got everything we need,¡± said Torm, looking at Zaber for confirmation.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t giving a damn about his trust,¡± said Zaber, his gaze glued to the front. ¡°If he¡¯d refuse to cooperate, I would¡¯ve unsaddled.¡±


    Turning around to see how far away the peasant was, Thyra crossed her legs over the horse again, forcing Zaber to let loose of the reins. ¡°Is that really necessary? You¡¯ve let that soldier live, why¨C¡±


    ¡°¡¯


    The boy and young woman fell silent, looking at each other and the rapidly moving road beneath them. Torm¡¯s grip tightened and his lips moved along while he prepared some good lines.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never talked to anybody other than my mother before,¡± said Thyra, and ripped her kerchief off, to relieve her wild hair from the itching.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I just need to get my head into it,¡± said the boy, looking forward in a similar steely way to his mentor. ¡°This isn¡¯t our usual spiel either. We¡¯ll adapt and learn.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no time for that,¡± grunted Zaber, looking at the scar on the back of his hand. ¡°Me and Asher did this kind of work together ¨C back in the day. He¡¯s the smoothtalker, I¡¯m the muscle. I know what I want and how to get it¡­¡± Breathing more heavily, he heard Brenz tell him how to deal with this louder than ever before. ¡°I need someone to play off from, and¨C¡± He paused and stared Torm down. ¡°You know this ain¡¯t my thing. I can¡¯t just fight myself through this part alone.¡±


    ¡°So Buron¡¯s the smooth-talker and Breg¡¯s his muscle?¡± asked Thyra, squeezing her head between the Zaber¡¯s stare and Torm¡¯s distraught face.


    ¡°By both Sisters!¡± shouted Torm, before playfully calming down to a neutral tone. ¡°I can¡¯t picture that¡­ well, I can imagine Breg¡¯s part.¡±


    Pushing the intrusive thoughts to the side with all his might, Zaber shrugged. ¡°They do it differently. Asher and I just worked,¡± he said, smiling. ¡°That¡¯s why he refused to let you in on his schemes.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Torm without hesitation. ¡°It¡¯s because he didn¡¯t respect me.¡± He and his mentor spoke through Thyra, ignoring her completely. The men lost their smiles again and only the clip-clopping of hooves could be heard for a while. ¡°And neither does Breg, nor Buron. I¡¯m not even sure if you really respect me.¡±


    ¡°Listen,¡± ordered Zaber. His eyebrows narrowed so much that they became one. ¡°When this is over, no matter the outcome¨C¡± He halted and looked deep into the boy¡¯s eyes. ¡°You will be one of us. Truly, one of us.¡±


    Torm saw the gloom in Zaber¡¯s brown eyes. The hazy blue of his own, though, brightened upon hearing that. An infectious smile spread through Thyra towards Zaber. For a brief moment, the veteran and his apprentice felt like back in Teblen. Both nodded and turned their heads ahead.


    ¡°Uhm, boys?¡± uttered Thyra, attracting both men¡¯s infuriated attention.


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me boy,¡± they said in unison.


    The rugged woman couldn¡¯t withhold a roaring laughter. Her mezzo broke entirely, shattering the moment between these knuckleheads. ¡°Alright, alright! Ladies? I think there¡¯s the turning,¡± she squeezed out between the laughter.


    ¡°Well played,¡± said Zaber, nodding with a half-smile. ¡°Good eyes too.¡±


    Reminded that her posture needed to align with folk¡¯s expectations, Thyra tried to look genteel again. The village had the heraldry of their liege¡¯s house, two red roosters on blue ground, separated by an arrow. As it was the law of the land, numerals were engraved on the wooden sign. To keep track of the serfs that weren¡¯t allowed to leave without permission. Fifty-seven men, eighty-seven women and twelve children. The count had been adjusted several times, meaning that these changes were too new to warrant a new plate. Where Zaber and Torm ignored the carved tally, their newest companion took a closer look.


    ¡°Why so many women and so few children?¡± uttered Thyra to herself.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been living in the marshes,¡± replied Torm and pointed the first villagers he saw out to Zaber. ¡°Last winter was cold as fuck.¡±


    Slowing down the horses, Zaber scratched the scar along his jawline when they approached a group of older women. ¡°Summer¡¯s been unusually dry too,¡± he said absentmindedly. His eyes fixated on a couple of children with botchy-build wooden swords. The older women of the village sorted through big bags of spelt, separating the bad seeds.


    The residents of Woadan looked at the trio that rode into their home. Chatter and murmur sprang forth and intensified the closer the horses got. Zaber unsaddled in a fluid swing, but his face distorted when he landed¡­ the last remnants of his injuries. He grabbed Thyra¡¯s reins and led her, with Torm keeping pace on his own. The village¡¯s women wore simple dresses, mostly colorless. With simple headscarfs and an occasional coif, all tied beneath their chins.


    ¡°Good day, be Father Sun with you,¡± greeted Zaber and lowered his head. ¡°We met one of your men on the road. He said you may help us with some directions.¡±


    ¡°And who are you?¡± asked one of the women, blocking their way further into the village.


    ¡°Excuse us.¡± Torm bowed his head too. ¡°Me and my sister are on the lookout for an armed caravan; headed by some noblemen. There was a man with an ox-cart who promised us the aid of his fellow men.¡±


    ¡°Did he?¡± said the elderly woman, putting a hand on Zaber¡¯s chest, pushing him away from the rest her group. ¡°Was there a new plough with him?¡± The veteran stared at her hand, but did not move at all, laying a hand on the hilt of his stiletto. ¡°Tell your dog to stay put. My husband was levied once, I recognize a good-for-nothing when I see one.¡±


    ¡°I assure you, he¡¯s on a tight leash,¡± smirked Torm and swung down his horse. Putting his shoulder close to Thyra¡¯s legs and feet, he offered her a hand to slide down too.


    ¡°If he lays hand on anybody in our village, our liege will not be pleased,¡± said the elderly woman, individual strands of hair peeking out under a headscarf. Most of the women¡¯s plain clothes were soiled, with grease and stains on their aprons. ¡°State your business, we got plenty work.¡±


    Satisfied with Torm¡¯s performance, Zaber knew what he had to do. ¡°Miss¨C¡± He grabbed the hand that tried to push him away. ¡°If you ever touch me again, your liege will only learn of my deeds when he finds his fief empty,¡± he rasped, making her retreat.


    ¡°Brother, didn¡¯t we have enough troubles with the sellsword¨C¡± said Thyra, revolted and shuddering, while pulling the cloak against her shoulders. ¡°In the inn?¡± She looked disgusted at Zaber, who ignored her entirely.


    ¡°Airich, what did I tell you after your bout with that Erhand fella?!¡± shouted Torm, after which Zaber¡¯s mouth twitched, brows narrowed.


    Being called that name made Zaber react in all honesty. A grim gaze towards his supposed employers followed, but he stepped away obediently. Scratching the scar along his jawline, the mentor never felt so proud of his apprentice.


    ¡°He killed Erhand?¡± asked the elderly woman and grabbed her heart. All the women behind her stopped working and gathered around the trio, repeating various questions about the bandit¡¯s demise.


    ¡°Put him in his place,¡± said Zaber. ¡°He ain¡¯t walking for a while.¡±


    ¡°What about his son?¡± urged another peasant woman.


    ¡°And his damned cousin?¡± added another.


    ¡°Nose and teeth broken,¡± replied Zaber, nodding as if it was nothing.


    ¡°Alna? Alna!¡± yelled the elderly woman and looked for one of her peers. The youngest among the old women stepped forth. ¡°Please, go visit Windy and tell her,¡± she ordered, a weeping sneaking into her tone.


    Torm and Zaber looked at each other confused, but shrugged it off. Only Thyra¡¯s mouth stood open, remembering what the bandits were talking about last night. ¡°Is she alright?¡± she asked, letting go of the oversized cloak.


    ¡°No,¡± answered the elderly woman. ¡°No, she¡¯s not.¡± Her voice had softened. She looked after the messenger running towards one of their simple stone and block houses with thatched roofs. Most buildings were built in one big circle around a bountiful center. ¡°What do you want from that caravan? It was the talk of the town when we spotted it. Handsome fellas in full suits of steel,¡± said the woman and turned back towards Thyra. ¡°Had to keep the children away from it because of the two cages filled with poor souls.¡±


    The village was surrounded by blossoming trees. A tiny stream ran through the foliage. The region around Lake Teblen was known for its many creeks and ponds.


    Torm was dumbfounded by the sudden switch in attitude. ¡°Uh¨C¡±


    ¡°My fiance is one of them.¡± Thyra tucked herself in. ¡°He¡¯s innocent, the real culprit has been found. If we can¡¯t catch up soon, I might never see him again.¡± She sobbed throughout, ever since she remembered Erhand¡¯s words.


    ¡°Oh my¨C¡± The peasant woman clutched her apron and a murmur went through the rest of the village. ¡°Good that you got yourself a handy brute. It¡¯s not only Erhand and his family who terrorize the roads. Last winter has driven many men to desperate means.¡±


    ¡°How long ago did you spot them?¡± asked Zaber, his gaze wandering through every corner of the village. ¡°Anything about the men they carried?¡±


    ¡°There were some women, likely whores,¡± replied the elderly woman in disdain. ¡°Everyone looked very dirty and disgusting. One was a savage ¨C a foul beast.¡±


    ¡°Anything about the guards?¡± added Torm, who looked at the children with their wooden swords. They had gathered to look at Zaber, his weapons and his scars. It was obvious that his mentor tried to ignore them. ¡°Did they look trustworthy?¡±


    ¡°Why the guards?¡± asked another woman who kept the children away. ¡°They were all upstanding men of our Margrave¡­ I assume. Nice horses, polished metal, with all their teeth.¡±


    ¡°A savage?¡± Thyra looked confused, wiping away the remnants of tears. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t you a city girl?¡± scoffed the elderly woman. ¡°A heathen. One that keeps your hands smooth. But¨C¡± She mustered Thyra from head to toe, grabbing her hands and turning her palms up. ¡°You a working gal like us. What about you, boy? You look neither like him, nor her. What does your daddy do?¡±


    Torm¡¯s face turned dark and he waved at Zaber. ¡°Airich,¡± he demanded his mentor¡¯s attention. ¡°I don¡¯t want that peasant to touch my sister.¡±


    The veteran did as he was told. He put his hands on the older woman¡¯s shoulder and pulled her back. She didn¡¯t resist, but her face looked like he was crushing her bones. ¡°Heh!¡±


    ¡°A blackhead, that is who she means,¡± explained Torm to Thyra. ¡°And my father¡¯s business is none of yours.¡±


    ¡°Please, good woman,¡± stressed Zaber, not letting go of her. A lot of the women around them struggled with their impulse to help, but feared the tired and worn-out looking veteran. ¡°My boss wants to know more about the guards.¡±


    ¡°Oww, don¡¯t good woman me!¡± She shook Zaber¡¯s hand off and moved away from him. ¡°You nearly ripped my arm off! If you¡¯ve got something to prove, look for another bandit, not a frail old thing like me.¡±


    ¡°Listen,¡± rasped Zaber and placed both his hands on his belt, close to his weapons. ¡°I¡¯m not just their guard. Her lover sits in that cage with a savage, and that¡¯s my fault. I need to surrender myself to them,¡± he said, desperately. ¡°I need to fix this. This is my last chance.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± another murmur went through the village. ¡°We don¡¯t know much more, but¨C¡± the elderly woman halted. ¡°But if you go to Gerheim, one village over the King¡¯s Road, they can tell you more. About eight miles, that¡¯s where the transport made camp.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight, thanks,¡± said Zaber and turned back towards the road. He shook his shoulders, scratched his scars and put his foot on the stirrup of his horse.


    Torm nodded at Zaber and held his hands to give Thyra a leg-up onto the horse. ¡°You have our deepest gratitude. Excuse the turmoil we made, but we travel in a matter of urgency.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± The rugged woman held up her hand and grabbed her reins before Zaber could. ¡°Is that her?¡± she asked the peasant women. A very young woman in hastily thrown-on clothes walked towards them, aided by the one who was sent away earlier. Parts of her undergarments were still peeking out and her bonnet was about to fall off from the pace.


    ¡°Who?¡± The elderly woman looked around surprised. ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s her.¡± Walking away, she opened her arm and met the other village women halfway.


    Zaber grumbled and avoided looking at the young woman. His shoulders tensed up, and his eyes wandered aimlessly. That village girl seemed at best Torm¡¯s age, probably younger. Her eyes were red and dried out, everything about her was a mess. If Zaber knew their lie would¡¯ve turned out like this, he wouldn¡¯t have done it. This girl, Alta, walked straight up to him and reached for his hand. The veteran¡¯s instinct was to retract it, but for the first time in two weeks, his heart spoke to him instead of the ghosts. So he let it happen, even if he couldn¡¯t look at Alta.


    ¡°Excuse him, our guide is¡­¡± Thyra teared up again. ¡°He is difficult.¡±


    There were no tears left in Alta, but their remnants were all over her face. She looked up, pleading with Zaber. ¡°Please,¡± she uttered. ¡°Sir Rodhin has done nothing¨C¡± Quivering all over, she felt Zaber grab her hand back. ¡°He¡¯ll come back. Please, stop him¡­ please¡­ kill him.¡±


    Running his hand through his face, over the stubble, up his nose and eyes, and nearly swiping off his arming cap, Zaber dismounted. His moves were quick and impulsive, scaring the women around him. He pulled up the collar of his worn-out brown gambeson, and rubbed his neck. He felt hot, seething, impossible to bear. Torm was about to dismount as well, seeing how his mentor stomped towards him. But then Zaber grabbed something from the bundles on Torm¡¯s horse. He knew exactly what he was looking for, pulling out a bollock dagger, small enough to hide it anywhere. Even more startled, the women of this village built a defensive circle and held up their tools. Though none of them knew how to do it the right way.


    ¡°Here,¡± said Zaber, raspier than Torm had ever heard him before. He walked right in front of Alta and pressed the dagger into her hands. ¡°This is yours now. It belongs to nobody else and anybody who tries to take it from you is your enemy.¡± He unsheathed the weapon, showed her the edge and stowed it back. ¡°Useless piece of shit, your damned liege¨C¡± grunted the veteran. ¡°Hide it. Wait for him to get close¨C¡± He stopped and stared deep into Alta¡¯s eyes, waiting for a nod. ¡°Aim for the neck, belly, or groin.¡±


    Turning around, Zaber lost no time. He swung himself up the draft horse, clicked his tongue twice and rolled out. Without as much as looking, he ripped Thyra¡¯s reins out of her hands, dragging her horse with him. Torm had only enough time to tip his felt cap once and follow.


    Driving the draft horse harder than before, Zaber left Woadan behind. None of the trio spoke for a long while, until they reached the King¡¯s Road again. Thyra smiled at Zaber. She didn¡¯t have to sit like a damsel anymore, so she rolled up her skirt a bit and switched.


    Torm looked over to Zaber more than once, deep in thought. ¡°So¨C¡± he uttered. ¡°Gerheim next?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s on Buron¡¯s and Breg¡¯s side. They¡¯ll get the results we need,¡± said Zaber with a face struck by darkness. It radiated into his companions as well, oppressing the mood. The veteran¡¯s skin itched and his mouth was dry.


    ¡°That was sorta sweet,¡± said Thyra, brightening up. ¡°Mind speaking your heart? There are more ways to deal with problems than vi¨C¡±


    ¡°Time for your first lesson,¡± interrupted Zaber. He loosened the grip of his reins and clicked his tongue. ¡°We got all the intel we need, time to speed up.¡±


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Thyra felt out of depth. Not getting an answer right after something happened wasn¡¯t too bad. Her mother sometimes needed a night to clear her head. But the young woman got the impression that Zaber wasn¡¯t going to give her an answer ¨C ever.


    ¡°Stand up on the stirrups and raise your arse,¡± was Zaber¡¯s reply. ¡°Shorten the reins up to your horse¡¯s neck, and lean forward.¡± The beast beneath him changed gait and charged ahead. The broken veteran knew that a gallop wasn¡¯t a lesson for day one. But he knew that he needed wind in his face, the rumblings of hooves, and his companions needed to keep up with it. ¡°Both of you! Arses up!¡±


    Sighing loudly, with hanging shoulders, Torm looked at Thyra while his mentor was moving away fast. ¡°He¡¯s not,¡± said the boy. ¡°And he won¡¯t talk about it. I dunno why he¡¯s so chatty lately in the first place.¡± He did as he was told, rising above the saddle and keeping a tight grip on the reins. It wasn¡¯t his plan to leave Thyra behind though, doing it step-by-step for her to see.


    ¡°I¨C¡± The rugged woman ripped the kerchief from her head and watched her own movements closely. ¡°I wanted to compliment him, that was a really nice thing to do,¡± she said as the horse beneath her bumped her up and down.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± interrupted Torm, trying to bring them up to speed. ¡°Take it as it is. His best lessons are when he¡¯s frustrated and can¡¯t beat someone up.¡±


    It was hard to speak while riding like this. ¡°W¨C, Why¨C¡± Thyra¡¯s voice was shaken. ¡°Why do you just accept this? My medicine won¡¯t do it for much longer either, he needs to stop now.¡±


    ¡°Wait, let me show you¨C¡± The boy changed his own posture and pulled Thyra up at her clothes. ¡°Lean forward,¡± he said and pointed forward. ¡°Like him.¡±


    Gaining traction, the two of them dashed behind Zaber. The first half of their way towards the mill Buron spoke of took some time. Now that they had gathered all of what they needed, a lot more paces were traveled. The road was mostly surrounded by spruce wood that only got thicker further down. It wasn¡¯t an easy task for an inexperienced rider to keep up with the former mercenary. But he never left their field of vision on this straight pathway to the east. Every day had been a little warmer than the last, the fog that it produced made this one rather chilly. Soon enough the fog made room for rain, and they passed two more voyagers before the silhouette of a broken tower-like figure became visible at the horizon.


    ¡°Arses down!¡± yelled Zaber, drenched, with haggard strands of his hair peeking out under his wet arming cap. ¡°Lean back, pull the reins up evenly. Don¡¯t make it move left or right.¡±


    Both his companions did as they were told. Thyra let herself fall into the saddle, now that she could rest her legs. Torm felt barely better, but didn¡¯t want to show it. He clenched his bottom to keep up the act.


    ¡°Dismount,¡± ordered Zaber, swinging down his saddle mid-ride. ¡°Hooo.¡± Grabbing the reins of the draft horse, he walked next to it in a fluid motion as both of them slowed down. When his horse stopped, he turned around and caught Thyra¡¯s reins. She was about to charge right up the hill and into the trees. Torm struggled too, but wasn¡¯t about to crash. Only topple into the spruce in front of him. ¡°Mill¡¯s up the hill. Not much sun through the rain, so let¡¯s rest, eat and get as many singing lessons out of it as we can.¡±


    ¡°Do you have a¨C¡± Thyra puffed heavily. The muscles in her thighs and butt burned like the Phoenix or Dragon. She imagined riding to be way easier from her books. ¡°A blade? Do you have a blade for me?¡±


    The same kind of pain wasn¡¯t as harsh for Torm, as he was used to standing in unnatural stances. But never for that long¡­ ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking,¡± he said while leading his horse up the hill. ¡°Do we have a buckler for her?¡±


    ¡°We do,¡± replied Zaber with a curt nod, racing them up the trail up the hill. ¡°Do you need your hands to do spells?¡±


    ¡°No, not really,¡± said Thyra, gasping and bracing herself on her knees whenever there was a chance to. ¡°I sometimes fold them together for concentration. You know, to pray to the Stars. But I don¡¯t need that.¡±


    ¡°Hum?¡± Zaber looked confused. ¡°All our line magicians used their hands; and some of the lower knights too. Even with steel in their hands, like¨C¡± He halted to think. ¡°As if they were guiding some of the spells.¡±


    The mill was surrounded by overgrown shrubs and moss. The wooden remnants of the stone ruin were charred. Nature around the building had recovered so much that the fire had to be ages ago. A door had rotted away, giving nothing to knock on after they fastened their animals beneath the trees. Zaber chose a spot with plenty grass to feed on and urged everyone to unpack quickly.


    A dim flickering showed the trio that they had company. Zaber announced them with a loud cough and it turned out to be a wise choice. This wasn¡¯t his first journey with his friends. A delightful small campfire. With bedrolls and their belongings spread out to dry in the middle of the room. The floor of a second storage kept the rain out, even without a proper roof above them. Two skinned and gutted rats on spikes were grilled, with two hectically casual men found themselves caught. Breg buckled his belt shut while Buron wiped his mouth clean.


    ¡°Calm down, there ain¡¯t no ladies to offend here,¡± smiled Zaber at his friends. He threw his belongings into a corner and himself onto one of the bedrolls next to the fire, warming his hands.


    ¡°Wha¨C¡± exhaled Thyra at the half-naked sight. It wasn¡¯t a new sight, but she wasn¡¯t prepared to see the bare-chested men so soon again. ¡°Well,¡± gasped Thyra one more time and sat down as well. ¡°Sure, why not. You¡¯ve been naked around me before.¡± She sought out Torm¡¯s gaze, who stood in the mill¡¯s door frame with a disgusted face.


    ¡°Got a problem, boy?¡± asked the unreasonably tall man and stood up to his full height and strength.


    ¡°N¨C, no,¡± replied Torm promptly.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t know how long you would take with the squeakers,¡± said Buron, placing himself next to Zaber. He took a big sip from his waterskin, rinsing his mouth. ¡°Put the helmets up to catch some water overnight. Caught three rats, but I guess you¡¯re going to eat hardtack and jerky too?¡± Buron attracted Breg¡¯s gaze with it, taunting him with his eyes.


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± nodded Zaber, took off his arming cap and opened the buckles of his gamebeson. ¡°Rest and eat; day¡¯s not over,¡± he said towards Torm and Thyra.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get the helmets,¡± sighed Torm and got rid of his drenched clothes.


    The cloak kept Thyra¡¯s body dry, but her hair had become wet strings of brown knots that she was wringing out. Her skirt was drenched too, and sprinkled with mud.


    ¡°Strip as much as you feel comfortable,¡± said Buron, offering her a piked rat. ¡°If you need to change, there¡¯s a cellar beneath us.¡±

 Chapter 26 - Day Ten

    Chapter 26


    Day Ten ¨C Evening


    There was an unrhythmic harmony to the three veterans singing. None of them hit the right notes and their pitch was all over the place. Sitting around the small fire inside the mill, Torm and Thyra listened to ¡®The Crow¡¯s March¡¯, a widespread and popular song among soldiers ¨C not just in Albion. The rugged woman had asked to learn a song from them, and there they were.


    ¡°I march no more, my path ends here,


    Dear mama, will you cry or will you cheer?


    The end has come, we lost the war,


    And my body¡¯s eaten by a crow.¡±


    Buron had shed a tear, and Breg¡¯s eyes were closed while they continued to hum the melody. This wasn¡¯t the first time that Torm had witnessed them singing. The veterans did this on the regular when they came together. But for the rugged woman in her pallid undergarments, this was the first time she saw them as human beings. Vulnerable and hurt. Reveling in shared memories that she did not understand.


    The unreasonably tall man had his arm around his scrawny companion, bare-chested, while Zaber stared into the flame. Drips of rain had accompanied them and a cauldron of bats roosted in the ruins above them. The wooden parts of the mill were charred or destroyed, but its base was made entirely from stone. The stairs to the upper story were rotted away, leaving a hole in the second floor, which now served as their roof. Only two giant, broken grindstones and a trapdoor were left behind from the mill¡¯s glory day.


    ¡°We take second shift,¡± said Breg after the solemnity became too awkward. Thyra noticed an underlying sob as he wiggled his arm out from under Buron. The pair stood up and walked towards the basement¡¯s entry, right next to the grindstones. A rope had been hidden in the broken parts, as it was a common smuggling route, which Buron let down the hole. For the giant, though, this wasn¡¯t needed and he just hopped down.


    Sitting on the edge to the cellar, Buron turned around, smirking and winking at Zaber. ¡°Grind them hard. Would be a shame if they kicked the bucket before us,¡± he said and lowered himself into the dark.


    Zaber¡¯s gaze twitched out of the flames, nodding at his friend. ¡°There, you heard us.¡± He only wore the old braies with plenty of holes and spots on them, and his worn-out brown gambeson. With opened buckles, most of the scars on his chest and ribs lay open too. ¡°What did you get from it?¡± After a big stretch and yawn, he stood up. The belt with all his weapons had rested next to him and he put it onto his bare hips while walking through the room.


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot to work with,¡± said Thyra, tilting her head as she reveled in the melody. ¡°Don¡¯t you know the words?¡± She looked at Torm.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t earned them,¡± said the boy reluctantly with a gloomy smile. ¡°Yet.¡±


    ¡°You have,¡± said Zaber, rummaging through the pile of armory. ¡°Next time we sing, you sing it for Seyfe and Kovada.¡±


    ¡°And Asher and the others,¡± replied Torm, leaning against the mossy walls. He fixed his wet hair, waiting for his felt cap to dry next to the fire. The small bronze fibula in the shape of a sheep reflected the flickering flames.


    Torm wore a plain short tunic and braies as well, which were the only spare clothes he had packed. It was his usual attire in summer when he was hanging back in the temple to read, or needed an extra layer for the winter. Watching his mentor sort through the metal, the boy rubbed his hands together while thinking. He didn¡¯t wear these clothing for the same reason Thyra did, who was about to strip like the men. But seeing Zaber uncomfortable changed her mind. No, Torm felt inadequate next to the veterans. Not because of Breg¡¯s muscles or the size that Buron packed. They wore something he felt he lacked ¨C their scars. He himself was clean and smooth, no impurity or much hair on his body. These men had proven their worth in a world that Torm yearned for¡­ and they called him a boy for it.


    ¡°There it is,¡± said Zaber to himself and pulled out Ermin¡¯s captured sword. A plain leather sheath, connected to a robust belt. ¡°Everyone up,¡± ordered the veteran. ¡°Break¡¯s over.¡± He picked up a buckler with a thick leather knot on it and held both in front of Thyra¡¯s nose. ¡°These are yours now, whoever takes them, blah-blah, you heard me before.¡±


    ¡°Glad you¡¯re doing better,¡± said Thyra, a sparkle blinking in her eyes as she inspected the steel.


    ¡°Hrmph,¡± twitched the corner of Zaber¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°Why cavalry?¡± The rugged woman¡¯s hands hovered over the buckler and sword, reluctant to touch them. ¡°Am I going to fight on horseback?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an arming sword; a regular sidearm,¡± said Torm and flipped onto his feet. ¡°What makes it cavalry is that it¡¯s pretty long for a one-hander, but not yet a bastard sword.¡± He grabbed the blade¡¯s hilt from his mentor¡¯s hands and pulled it out, startling Thyra for a moment. But soon her gaze became inquisitive, as the boy held it up for her. ¡°See the tip? It¡¯s less pointy. Not made for stabbing as much as it is thick and sturdy to withstand clashing into armored men at full speed.¡±


    ¡°Many poor and unskilled duelists use them,¡± added Zaber. ¡°They¡¯re more forgiving if you hack-and-slash away ¨C with a reach buffer.¡±


    ¡°Perfect!¡± Thyra¡¯s mezzo voice swung up and down, as she tried to show her best villainous smile. The mentor and apprentice duo looked at each other. One raised an eyebrow, the other rolled his eyes, as the young woman grabbed the shield and sword. ¡°Exactly what I need.¡±


    ¡°Listen,¡± said Zaber dryly, grabbing Thyra¡¯s wrists to pull her onto her feet. ¡°I¡¯ll train you to survive, not to win.¡± He guided her through the room at her back, giving her a confused expression while she avoided stumbling over debris and bundles. Close to what used to be the stairs upwards was more than enough space to move back and forth a couple steps. ¡°Torm will assist me and be your dummy while I do¨C¡± He examined Thyra from head to toe. ¡°I do whatever you tell me.¡±


    ¡°Alright!¡± She clapped her hands, making the steel in it collide. ¡°So, you ne¨C¡±


    ¡°Wait for me to finish,¡± interrupted Zaber with Torm positioning himself behind his mentor. ¡°Fall in line!¡± ordered the former mercenary and Torm did as he was told, jumping in front of the new student. ¡°Take a step forward, bend your knees,¡± instructed Zaber and the boy demonstrated it at the same time. The young woman hesitated and looked down at her legs, until Zaber stepped next to her. He put his own foot between her legs and guided her feet to the correct position.


    ¡°Like this?¡± asked Thyra, still staring at her feet.


    ¡°Lower your arse and hips.¡± A different man, Zaber wasn¡¯t shy to touch his new student at all, directing her body. ¡°Back foot builds pressure, front foot digs itself solid. Not from your heels ¨C they only support ¨C but from your toes.¡± The veteran drew his lange messer and used the flat to tap against the errors that stood out to him. ¡°Take your time, look at Torm, and correct yourself.¡±


    Unsure about her own, Thyra fumbled back and forth, looking for cues in Torm¡¯s eyes. The boy guided her with nods and shakes of his head, or moving the parts of his body that she needed to correct. She still felt her butt and thighs from the riding lessons, and her knees were about to join them. But later than sooner, she was able to get into a position that satisfied her teachers.


    ¡°Straight posture, torso slightly to the side. Shield arm up front, hand to your chest¡¯s height,¡± continued the veteran, guiding her arms and back while stepping between her and the boy. He pressed against Torm with his knuckles, showing her how hard it is to move him. ¡°Tension is the key, your whole body needs to work.¡± Zaber nodded at Torm, whose face had a stupid grin all over it. Afterwards, Zaber tested Thyra in the same way, making her budge backwards until she was about to trip. ¡°We need to get you proper boots. Your shoes will get you killed.¡±


    ¡°My mother and I made them from rabbit hide,¡± said the rugged woman, defeated. Returning to her stance, she wiggled her toes as she looked down at herself again. ¡°I like¨C¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t giving no single fuck about what you like,¡± interrupted Zaber and moved on. ¡°You¡¯ll do nothing but stand like this and move around as the boy tells you.¡±


    ¡°Not a boy,¡± commented Torm, provoking his mentor¡¯s stare. ¡°I¡¯m your adjutant now.¡± He smiled.


    Zaber stepped in front of Torm, coming face-to-face with him. ¡°You¡¯ll use my blade. Our enemy is armed with the same weapon she wields right now. The line magician only wore a dagger¨C¡± he scoffed. ¡°He¡¯s a bitch that¡¯ll avoid a melee at all costs.¡± Shifting around Torm, Zaber spoke loud and clear for Thyra to hear him. ¡°The Captain¡¯s sword is a couple inches shorter, with a bigger shield. His lieutenant dons a bastard sword, a hand-and-a-half.¡± He handed his lange messer over to the boy and turned around on his heel to face Thyra once more. She struggled to find the correct posture. ¡°When you move, you don¡¯t cross your legs. Front leg first, whole soles on the ground, leaned onto the toes. Then you trace your standing behind; don¡¯t hop like a bunny. If you get intercepted with both feet in the air, you¡¯re dead,¡± he explained, and made room between his two students, gesturing at Torm that he can take over. ¡°Now move!¡±


    At that very moment, Zaber felt good. Reverting back to his former self wasn¡¯t something he took pleasure in. Except when he was teaching Torm and now Thyra as well. A young corporal who wanted nothing more than to keep even younger recruits alive. With a keen eye on every move the well-fed, healthy woman did. The first drops of sweat building up, how her arms became lame and her legs gave in until she lost posture. That was when he swept in to correct her, as Torm still tended to lose himself in the moment too much. ¡°Move along his lead. You ain¡¯t as strong as a soldier, nor are you a real peasant girl toiling away every day ¨C or gets punished by a bad harvest or her liege,¡± he said, as harsh as he could. ¡°We sweat in peace so we ain¡¯t bleeding at war.¡±


    ¡°Ye¨C¡± Thyra breathed heavily. ¡°Yessir!¡± she replied, laughing.


    Snapping his head at his new recruit, Zaber¡¯s teeth were grinding with a smirk ¨C forehead to forehead. ¡°Call me Sir one more time and you¡¯ll learn what happens if you slow down.¡±


    Thyra flinched and lost the grip on the buckler, which hung from the leather knot on her wrist. She gulped and gained distance between her and Zaber. ¡°I, I¨C¡± she stuttered. ¡°It was a joke, alright? Don¡¯t talk to me like that. You scare me.¡±


    Torm placed a hand on his mentor¡¯s shoulder, leaving his stance. ¡°No need for that,¡± said the young man. ¡°She gets it, calm down.¡±


    As he shook off Torm¡¯s hand, Zaber took a few steps away and took a deep breath. Rubbing the stubble on his chin, his fingernails dug into the scar on his jaw. His skin ached and he ruffled his own wet hair, which finally stopped being so damned smooth. ¡°I can¡¯t afford to have you die on me,¡± said Zaber frenetically, turning around. ¡°Or him. Or the nasty dogs down there.¡±


    ¡°Just¨C¡± Thyra¡¯s voice trembled, but she took a step forward again. ¡°Just teach me normal,¡± she said, trying to smile through the scare. ¡°Your first instructions were good. And I¡¯ll stop joking, I swear, this is serious to me too.¡± Her eyes sought reassurance with Torm.


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay behind, as you said, and guard her. If you are worried that¨C¡± nodded Torm, reaching for the former soldier¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± interrupted Zaber, stretching his tense neck and shoulders. ¡°Let¡¯s get back. I¡¯ll¨C¡± He walked up and down between Torm and Thyra, pointing at the dangling buckler. ¡°First you learned how to walk, now you gotta learn how to hold your cutlery.¡±


    Thyra raised her hands and held the buckler directly in front of her chest. The cavalry sword was right next to it, pointed upwards. Her teacher tipped the flat of his lange messer against it.


    ¡°Wrong,¡± said Zaber and moved right next to her, to make his own hand easier to see in the flickering light. ¡°You ain¡¯t wanna lose this, but you gotta stay flexible. Lots of this gets personalized with experience, but for now you do as I do.¡± Holding his empty hand as if he was holding a shield, his blade pointed towards Torm¡¯s chest and neck. The tip was very close to where the buckler should be, but he emphasized his sword-hand first. ¡°Thumb on the pointer to form a loose ring; gives you wiggle room to move the sword around. Stinker adds to this, but tighter,¡± explains Zaber and showed how the blade was allowed to shake a little in the upper half of his fist.


    ¡°The¡­ what?¡± asked Thyra, following the blade¡¯s movement, confused. ¡°My what?¡±


    ¡°The stinker,¡± repeated Zaber, glimpsing over at Thyra¡¯s reaction. ¡°The middle finger.¡± He stuck said finger of his free hand out, flipping Torm off. ¡°The one you use to tell someone to go fuck yourself.¡±


    Torm snorted and his whole body trembled under the chuckle. ¡°Man,¡± he squeezed out. ¡°I doubt she ever told her mother to go fuck herself.¡±


    ¡°Why would I?¡± Thyra shook her head, curling her lips. ¡°If either of us needed alone time, the other one would take a walk.¡±


    ¡°Wait, you wha¨C¡± Torm broke form again. ¡°Why didn¡¯t we ever come up with that?¡±


    Zaber coughed. ¡°So¨C¡± he said, loudly. ¡°Your medicine and little finger. These assert all the power to keep the damned thing in your hand.¡±


    The rugged woman pressed her lips shut to avoid bursting into laughter. Zaber¡¯s uncomfortable glimpse, yet dry tone, got to her. She didn¡¯t want to provoke him again. Keeping a serious face was beyond her power. Seeking out Torm¡¯s eyes again, the two looked at each other as if they were telling a silent joke.


    ¡°Show me.¡± Zaber continued, correcting the height of how far up or down Thyra held her blade, and the bend of her elbow. ¡°Buckler¡¯s less tricky. Just place your thumb on top of the handle. Makes it easy to turn it left and right,¡± he said, stepping aside so that Torm could face the young woman unobstructed. The teacher guided Thyra¡¯s off-hand, raising it from the position she chose on instinct. ¡°Raise it as high as you can without losing your foe¡¯s face and shoulders. Arms are always slightly bent; don¡¯t be a fragile twig.¡±


    Snapping his fingers and pointing at Thyra, the mentor gave his apprentice the order to mock-attack her. Torm¡¯s blade never developed any real momentum to overwhelm the novice. Without any pressure, steel connected with steel gently. Only to show how it would block incoming strikes to her body and head.


    ¡°This is your cone of defense. Keep the hilt a hand-width to your chin, angled to your ear.¡± Zaber grabbed Thyra¡¯s swordhand and moved it along with his words. ¡°Your hands will stay in this position for this exercise. You focus on your movements, Torm will correct you if you slip,¡± said the veteran and moved out of the way. ¡°And when you move, I want to hear a sharp exhale. A short burst; make your stomach and chest muscles twitch.¡±


    Not wasting any time, Torm moved and struck the buckler while showing off the breathing technique. Back and forth, slow steps, and a lot more pain in the soft parts of her body. Thyra was learning. The closest she had ever done before was chopping wood. She would be lying if she never pretended to fight a villain or monster like that. The stick fighting her mother and she did when she was little wasn¡¯t like this at all. No posturing, no dramatic pressing of blades against each other, or fun swirls. What Zaber and Torm did was real work and all she wanted was a break.


    ¡°Show her something fun,¡± said Zaber from the side, thumbs stuck into his belt. He inspected every move and commented on every error, but also on everything well done. ¡°Like that useless spinny thing every amateur show-off does when they think they¡¯re hot shit,¡± ordered Zaber, keen eyed with narrowed brows. He feinted a smile at Torm for just a moment, while scratching, moving his shoulders a bit, with a crack.


    The boy did as he was told, enjoying himself in the adjutant¡¯s position. The trick was easy, but looked way more impressive than it was. Keeping the ring that held the hilt in place, but opening up the rest of the hand and letting gravity do the rest. Closing one¡¯s fist to get the grip back was how the blade swung up, finishing the circle.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°This is the only use this trick has. A hand-drill to become quick-wristed and get a feel for the blade,¡± said Zaber, rubbing the skin on his forearms. ¡°If someone does that in front of you to intimidate you, it¡¯s a tell-tale sign that they are shit at fighting.¡±


    ¡°I did this for half a year when I got started with Zaber,¡± said Torm and smiled silly.


    ¡°He still does when thinks he¡¯s alone,¡± said Zaber, stopping their exercise by putting a hand on Torm¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Straight posture, solid stance, cone of defense, sword read.¡± He listed everything off his apprentice¡¯s body, and pointed at what Thyra was lacking. ¡°Moving, breathing, body tension. Hard to get right all at once. That¡¯s why you need to be strong and resilient. Shouting in short bursts can help with the breathing, or overwhelm an unprepared opponent. Not today, though, we do that tomorrow, ¡®aight?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Thyra nodded and looked down on herself, then at Torm, and started wiggling her feet. ¡°I think.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± repeated Zaber. ¡°Now¡¯s your turn. Take a break and tell me what I gotta do. Then we¡¯ll train parallel to each other.¡±


    Both switched to a casual stance, and Thyra¡¯s body slumped down exhausted. Torm was also sweating, but looked energized by it. Thinking while panting, the rugged woman pulled on the undergarments she wore with her fingers to let in the cold air. ¡°So¡­ uhm¨C¡± She looked around, straightened her back again and bent her spine. ¡°Sorry, uh¨C, I¡¯ve learned most of this when I was little, and mother made many lessons into games for me.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± asked Zaber dryly, scratching the scar on his jaw. ¡°I also learned this when I was very little.¡±


    Rolling his eyes, Torm sat down on the grindstone. ¡°Man, I¡¯ve always had fun with you,¡± said the boy, lying down. ¡°Don¡¯t be an arse.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s start with breathing and posture as well,¡± said Thyra, and tapped Zaber on the shoulder with the flat of her sword. She moved very slowly, afraid to cause an accident, when she touched the old, tattered brown gambeson. It had many dark spots on it and reeked like a wet dog. ¡°You might want to take this off.¡±


    ¡°I might not,¡± replied Zaber, and grabbed the blade with two fingers, directing it away.


    ¡°Why do you still wear it? You¡¯ll get sick overnight, and isn¡¯t it sticky?¡± The rugged woman put the sword and buckler on one of the bundles to free her hands.


    ¡°I never get sick,¡± said Zaber, while Torm sat behind him and shook his head, forming a wordless ¡®no¡¯.


    Thyra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ¡°Hear me out,¡± she said, staring down Zaber. ¡°I did what you told me, and you do the same. Take that yucky thing off and stand up straight. Don¡¯t push your belly out, and your chest needs to be able to fill with air so that your voice can move.¡±


    The former soldier was used to this kind of language. He recognized justified authority, as he was the recruit now, whether he liked it or not. ¡°¡¯aight, straight posture,¡± he said, took off the open gambeson and threw it close to the fire. Zaber wasn¡¯t as hairy or strong as Breg, but lean and trim. There wasn¡¯t much belly to stick out.


    ¡°Alright, next comes the hard part.¡± The pitch of Thyra¡¯s sharp, dramatic mezzo rose in excitement. She saw Torm mimicking his mentor in the background. ¡°Relax, you¡¯re always so stressed and tense,¡± she said, as she placed her hands on his rib cage to guide his lungs. Her thumbs pressed the lowest ribs, on Zaber¡¯s backside, while her index fingers were just beneath the short ones in the front. With closed eyes, she took one deep, slow breath, raising her entire chest. ¡°Through your nose. Allow your lungs to open; deep. From your midriff, not the chest.¡±


    Running her hands over Zaber¡¯s body, it tensed up even more. ¡°Am I doing it right?¡±, asked the veteran with pinched eyes.


    ¡°Not at all,¡± said Thyra after opening her eyes. ¡°Do it like him.¡± Her gaze pointed at Torm, participating silently in the background.


    Opening his eyes again, Zaber turned around to see what his apprentice was doing. His eyes were narrowed, but not in his usual stare. Torm recognized that he was looking for flaws and strengths. ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡± asked Zaber.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t look like he¡¯s an animal blabber that¡¯s about to pop,¡± giggled Thyra and stepped away from her pupil. ¡°Think about something nice. A thing that makes you comfortable. Close your eyes, and relax¡­¡± She waited, giving Zaber the time he needed. ¡°What¡¯s your favorite memory?¡±


    Lowering his hands, Zaber stared at the ground to think about that question. There were many things to choose from, but none of the thoughts that flooded his mind were pleasant. When he closed his eyes, all he could see were Asher, Yann and Ceyhan. All he could hear was Brenz. The muscles of his jaw were about to burst from grinding his teeth, until he looked up again at Thyra, frustrated. ¡°Some poppy juice would really help me right now. I ain¡¯t thinking straight with the pain going on.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Thyra, losing no time. ¡°You¡¯re all healed up. Just focus on something else. It¡¯ll take a couple days, but you¡¯re going to be alright.¡±


    Torm placed his hand on Zaber¡¯s shoulder from behind and presented him with the lange messer he was given. ¡°Need this back?¡±


    With aching skin and hair, Zaber looked at his own weapon in disgust. He sighed and shrugged before turning back to his instructor. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit,¡± said Thyra with a rattled smile. Taking a few steps back, she hummed up and down a ladder of pitches. She directed herself with rising and descending hand waves. ¡°Go easy on yourself,¡± she inhaled again, looking rather serene. ¡°Make some noise. Start low; go up, then low again. After that, take a deep breath and start over. Let me hear your range so that we can figure out what spells are best suited for you.¡±


    ¡°What if I don¡¯t match the¨C¡± Zaber halted, looking upwards to think. ¡°Fire scale?¡± he asked, before starting to hum.


    ¡°Some kinds of songs are more suitable for different ranges. It doesn¡¯t limit you, everything can be sung by everyone,¡± explained Thyra, while listening. ¡°Same way your Birthstar and the current sky influence what works best at a time.¡±


    Trying to support his mentor, Torm hummed as well. Zaber wasn¡¯t the type who was unsure of himself when push came to shove, and seeing him like that made the boy anxious as well. Thinking about the worst outcome, Torm was sick of waiting for everyone else to tell him what to do.


    ¡°Please, I can¡¯t concentrate on both of you at the same time,¡± intervened Thyra. ¡°Let me figure out Zaber¡¯s range first, and later yours.¡± At the same time as saying this, her hands were apologizing. ¡°Right now we¡¯re still under Bear. Spells that regard your body are strong right now, as well as earthen manipulation. Mother¨C¡± Stopping herself to look up at the roof with small droplets of rain coming through, she smiled sad. ¡°Mother sang an old song that invokes the dangers of the swamp. It¡¯s an earth, water and growth song titled ¡®Death awaits in the Wetlands¡¯. The song we sang to stimulate your health and vivify your body¡¯s own ability to heal is called ¡®The Song of the White Sister¡¯, which is a prayer to the white moon and works most of the year, with different strength. It¡¯s only useless on the white¡¯s new moon.¡±


    ¡°I kno¨C¡± Zaber stopped his humming, but got put in his place.


    ¡°Ah, ah, ah!¡± interjected Thyra. ¡°No questions. You are a high baritone, as I thought. A hearth song is within your natural forte.¡± She wagged her finger to the rhythm that Zaber returned to. ¡°You said you¡¯re a Rooster, which is more than an entire cycle away. Songs of the sky, temper and loud songs are best for you.¡±


    ¡°Stallion is right after Rooster and your Stag comes next, with the Griffon in-between,¡± said Torm, while the young woman was still listening with one ear to Zaber. ¡°Fire Festival is soon, and I assume Firebird is good for fire spells? Would it be best to wait until then?¡±


    ¡°It would,¡± replied Thyra halfheartedly. ¡°Let¡¯s pray neither of their singers has their Birthstar coming up in the next twelve days.¡± She looked upwards again, as if she was asking a favor from the Stars. ¡°We should make a sacrifice to Bear and Firebird. My Stag is for earth, temper and growth. Stallions are good with body and loud spells, as well as attraction.¡±


    Running his hand through his hair, Torm smirked and winked at himself. ¡°You have no idea how much that explains,¡± he laughed. ¡°So¡­ we probe them for the next eleven days and attack on the twelfth?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s too late,¡± said Zaber and stopped humming. ¡°Even if we slow them down, we have to strike as soon as we find an advantage. They¡¯ll have reached the mines already by Fire Festival, which will have a fortified garrison.¡±


    Walking to a bundle at the side, Zaber rummaged through everything around that area. Both his companions watched him befuddled, until Torm¡¯s eyes widened and he set out to stop his mentor.


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t take it,¡± uttered Thyra, powerless. ¡°You can die from too much¨C¡±


    ¡°Calm your tits,¡± exclaimed Zaber and swatted Torm¡¯s hands off of himself. The veteran held Airich¡¯s scabbard and sword in one hand and a small leather bag in the other.


    ¡°Wha¨C¡± Thyra looked down her own bosom, in sweat-soaked undergarments, mouth slightly open. ¡°The bird or¡­?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t¨C¡± Zaber looked at her, shook his head and pointed at Torm. ¡°I meant him,¡± he said and stared his apprentice down. If he wanted to take the juice, neither of them could stop him.


    ¡°All this humming ain¡¯t going to work if we don¡¯t get the spell right,¡± said Zaber, walking towards Thyra. He opened the bag and showed its insides to Torm and Thyra, revealing a fine red dust.


    ¡°By the Dragon, what¡¯s¨C¡± uttered Torm, nearly poking his nose into the bag.


    ¡°Don¡¯t! Fucking idiot.¡± Zaber pushed Torm¡¯s face away, and slapped him on the back of his head. ¡°This shit¡¯s poison.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± asked Thyra, leaning away from the substance.


    ¡°Arcanium,¡± replied Zaber, smirking at it. ¡°It¡¯s what killed Airich of Belge.¡±


    ¡°You said he was sick,¡± commented Torm, blinking confused. ¡°I heard that from others too.¡±


    ¡°¡±It made him sick.¡± Zaber sounded satisfied. ¡°The High King demands miners from all over Albion for the rare sites you can get it at. I¡¯m sure the First King of Gal¨¢zion and the Grand King of Krasnia do the same. Damned, I bet the Yesilian Sultan can¡¯t do without it either,¡± said the veteran, widening the bag to jolt it a little. ¡°The black dust that¡¯s left in the blade¡¯s letters is of a higher quality ¨C at least that¡¯s what Airich said. He only used the best. All I really know about is that breathing this shit fucks with your lungs and blood, and that it burns away when used.¡±


    ¡°Mother taught me nothing about this. I doubt she knew much. We only read about it existing,¡± uttered Thyra in awe. She wanted to reach into the bag and feel it between her fingers, but pulled away, biting her lips.


    Zaber closed the bag and put the Arcanium aside where it was safe. ¡°A knight without any of his magic horseshit is hard to beat, but with it, they¡¯re near-invincible. You¡¯ve seen the armor, shields and blades, Torm,¡± he said and got a nod from the boy. ¡°They use them in temple statues and altars too. Saw a noble¡¯s daughter use a longer spell to make light with a stone tablet when I was a kid. It¡¯s their biggest secret. Airich didn¡¯t trust any other enchanter with his steel; did everything himself. He used so much more Arcanium than any other officer in his army. Studying spells and what they called constructs¡­ until it rotted him away from the inside.¡±


    Pulling out Airich¡¯s sword, Zaber swung it slowly, one-handed, around. The dust that he himself tried to get into the letters, to close the gaps of the old dust that was still in there, crumbled out. He held the blade straight in front of him for Thyra and Torm to have a good look at it. ¡°The fog in Teblen and every other big city?¡± Zaber looked at Torm, who waited a moment confused before nodding again. ¡°That¡¯s everywhere after a big battle with many line magicians and knights.¡±


    ¡°Is that also dangerous?¡± asked Torm, trying to read the inscription on the longsword.


    ¡°Dunno,¡± replied Zaber, running his finger along the letters and turning it around to do the same on the other side. ¡°I also dunno which side is which spell. One is Involcoro Igni, which sets it ablaze. The other is the one I need to win ¨C Ignam Voco. Do you think you can sing these?¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡± Thyra was hypnotized by the swinging of the sword and took it out of Zaber¡¯s hands; without resistance. Humming at the sword, moving it through the air, she tried to get a feel for the steel. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I need to study this. Experiment around with what I know and how to apply my knowledge to the words you¡¯ve said,¡± said the rugged woman, feeling the dust in the letters, then cleansing herself of it on her undergarments. ¡°Did your¨C¡± She stuttered. ¡°Uh¨C, you know¨C, whatever he was to you¡­ ever¨C¡±


    ¡°No,¡± interrupted Zaber. ¡°Some of the officers talked about it behind his back; which he knew. Nobody dared to accuse him of teaching me magic in secret¡­ and he didn¡¯t.¡± The former mercenary shrugged and scratched the scar on his jaw. ¡°I have no clue how this works or what Airich did when he was alone.¡±


    ¡°So¨C¡± Torm looked back and forth between Thyra and Zaber. ¡°When are we trying? What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    ¡°On the morrow, we four are preparing for the next ambush,¡± replied Zaber, and held his hand in front of Thyra, who behaved like some mythical sword maiden. She didn¡¯t hesitate to hand over the sword. ¡°While we do that, I want you to figure out how to get the Arcanium into the sword, ¡®aight?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t let you down, by my mothers¡¯ and father¡¯s name,¡± said Thyra rhythmically, her mezzo swinging unsteady from exhaustion. ¡°I want revenge.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s their¨C¡± Torm and Zaber spoke at the same time, halting and looking at each other. The mentor shook his head to point from his apprentice towards Thyra. ¡°You,¡± he said.


    ¡°What was their name?¡± asked Torm.


    ¡°Their names were¡­¡± she swallowed audibly, faltering on her own words. ¡°Rhuma ¨C Rhu ¨C, and Usa. And Tonna.¡±


    ¡°Those are midlander names,¡± said Zaber, remembering that they crossed that part of Albion multiple times. It was a region that was mostly comprised of the Landgraviates of Nessen-Haerm, and Esterthum, and the Duchy of Felham. ¡°I knew someone from there once.¡±


    ¡°They are,¡± replied Thyra reluctantly. ¡°I hoped I could go there one day.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s see about that.¡± Zaber put the sword next to the bag of Arcanium. ¡°You have no other task than this. We¡¯ll do the murdering, you suppress their magic from a safe position in the rear.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I can do that,¡± said Thyra and knelt next to her buckler and cavalry sword. ¡°If two songs are sung at the same time, they cause disharmony. But the three together will have no problem overpowering me. I¡¯m not even sure if my magic can interfere with even one of their spells.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be your bodyguard, you have nothing to worry,¡± said Torm and bumped himself on the chest with a fist. ¡°Just sing them into the ground.¡± The boy gave Thyra a buddy slap on the back that made her cough and slip forward.


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡± Zaber examined Thyra from head to toe, smiling at her overwhelmed reaction. ¡°We gotta work on that stance, break¡¯s over. You do what I told you, and I¨C¡± He stopped and inhaled playfully. ¡°I¡¯ll hum and breathe.¡±


    What little sunlight remained settled behind the rain clouds. Only breaks for rekindling the fire, and drinking were allowed. The droplets accompanied the trio until the sky ran dry. Torm commented on Thyra¡¯s progress and faults, while she gave instructions to Zaber whenever she heard him falter. Too tense. Relax. Deeper breaths. While Thyra was taught some more footwork, Zaber was told to add noises to the hums. Make his pitch more distinct and bring forth his voice. The veteran had sung before and was used to yelling, but the rugged woman¡¯s body ran out of steam, in need of more breaks. Zaber pushed his companions as far as he could. If it was up to him, sleep would be nothing but an obstacle. But it couldn¡¯t be helped.


    With Buron and Breg reemerging from the cellar, it was time for Torm and Thyra to sleep. While everyone was preparing for either watch duty or sleep, the former mercenary picked up Airich¡¯s longsword and went outside. Silhouettes of the Red and White Sister shone through the thin veil of clouds. Zaber put on his half-dried gambeson and rubbed his aching skin. Giving into the itch, he swung the sword through different forms and stances. Fighting an invisible foe.


    ¡°That¡¯s the dead bastard¡¯s sword?¡± rang Breg¡¯s grizzled voice out of the mill¡¯s entrance. Buron stood right behind his giant companion in the old door frame. ¡°How long since we had a spar? Two white moons?¡± He held his bardiche axe and long paddings, still bare-chested.


    Zaber¡¯s ears shifted backwards, and he turned around mid-swing, effortlessly changing directions. Changing to a straight position, the broken veteran¡¯s sunken face looked tired and dark. ¡°By the Stars,¡± he said and reached for Breg¡¯s hand and smiled gratefully. ¡°That¡¯s what I need now.¡±


    ¡°Me too,¡± replied Breg, shook his friend¡¯s hand and pulled him into a misshapen hug. ¡°Three rounds, then you gotta rest.¡±


    ¡°You also need this,¡± said Buron and threw a vial towards Zaber. Squatting on the old steps, the scrawny veteran leaned against the wall and watched his friends do their thing. ¡°I really hope the blackhead¡¯s worth it.¡±


    Snatching the medicine out of the air, Zaber opened it right away and downed it in one go. His face looked disgusted, yet relieved, when he raised Airich¡¯s sword and shifted back into a fighting stance. ¡°Asher and I owe him,¡± said the greasy and unkempt man. ¡°We got his older brother killed. And without folk like us, he wouldn¡¯t even be here.¡±

 Chapter 27 - Day Twelve

    Chapter 27


    Day Twelve ¨C Afternoon


    Shadows lay over the entrance of yet another valley. Clouds and the peaks of the Elbian mountain ranges blocked the glory of Father Sun ¨C the perfect weather for shady folks and their dirty deeds. The King''s Road followed a pass along a small river. Neither Zaber nor Torm knew its name. They took cover behind a mound of earth in the surrounding conifer woods. Elevated above the cobbled pathway, padded with patches of grass and moss. Browned needles were everywhere except for the pavement that was about forty yards away from the duo. There was no need for heavy armor beyond their everyday attire; gambeson and a jerkin.


    ¡°How long did you say again?¡± asked Torm, hushed and snarky at the same time. ¡°Sun¡¯s gone soon.¡± With crossbow in hand, the boy lay on the ground with his head peeking out every once in a while to look down the valley. His bauernwehr was stuck hilt-up next to him in the ground. The earth mound looked natural from one side, but was dug up and modified where Torm and Zaber hid.


    ¡°Can¡¯t be long anymore, or they took a different path,¡± replied Zaber and kept an eye on the position of the sun. ¡°Last town, Rottem, is too big for them to stay. Too many travelers, too many strangers, too many risks.¡± The greasy and unkempt man kept his lange messer unsheathed as well, close to his hands.


    A candle or two must have passed already. The unreasonably tall man and his bald companion were on the other side of the road, ready with another crossbow. Both positions were roughly ten or fifteen yards uphill above their target. Two fortifications loomed on the peaks of the valley. West of Buron¡¯s and Breg¡¯s side were two castles. These had easy access from the other side of where they laid in waiting and down the river. Behind Zaber and Torm, to the east, was a simple keep, and the King¡¯s Road made a turn south.


    ¡°By the Firebird, I¡¯m dying,¡± sighed Torm, rubbing his eyes. ¡°This is so boring. Please, run me through it once more. If these castles wouldn¡¯t make me so nervous I¡¯d be snoozing off.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight, one more time,¡± said Zaber, and looked around to find a suitable twig. ¡°I¡¯ll draw you a map. This is the valley we¡¯re in. Elbmarch¡¯s a wrinkly fuck, full of nooks and crannies to exploit.¡±


    Drawing one thick, curvy line into the ground, Zaber piled up some earth on the sides. It represented the mountain peaks the King¡¯s Road was running through. He placed two stones where the castles were constructed and a pebble for the keep. After running a couple smaller lines to make the river and diverging paths, a broken pine cone got placed into the valley.


    ¡°We¡¯re a mile south of the next hamlet after Rottem, Sonhain,¡± said Zaber, crouching behind the mound and taking another peek. ¡°Road split, down to this monastery. About a furlong behind that turn, along the creek.¡±


    ¡°I still don¡¯t get why they made camp at Sonhain,¡± replied Torm, scratching the measly hair on his chin. ¡°You know, same as before they entered the mountains.¡±


    Always keeping an eye on the road, Zaber¡¯s neck cracked when he stretched and turned towards Torm. ¡°Sonhain¡¯s too busy. King¡¯s Road runs straight through, and the crossing behind it splits to the Archduke¡¯s own paved road. There¡¯s also that big arse river from the glacier that¡¯s melting right now. Town on the yester was peaceful and had nothing going on. Three hundred folk at best.¡± Zaber¡¯s gaze twitched back and forth between Torm, the valley and irritating noises around them. He didn¡¯t know if there was anything special living here, as he¡¯d only been twice into these mountains; a long time ago. ¡°Rottem has at least a thousand or two, and hamlets like Sonhain are too close to it. Travelers all around; too big of a hassle. I bet it¡¯s the main income of this earldom.¡±


    Torm felt the wood of the crossbow. He stretched his wrists to rub them, but went straight back into position. The stock pressed into his shoulder, flat on the dirt. His chest felt constricted like on his last day in Teblen. ¡°They drafted local men into guard duty last time, why not¨C¡±


    ¡°Too many. They kept half the village up and under control,¡± said the mentor, looking at his own map. ¡°They ain¡¯t showing up before sundown, we¡¯ll backtrack and check. But I don¡¯t wanna be forced to knuckle down a peasant when we sneak to the cages.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± nodded Torm. ¡°I¡¯m just¨C, uhm¡­ real¨C¡± He looked up at the mountains, focusing on the castles on the other side. ¡°Scared? Is that bad?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve always got good instincts. One of these two¨C¡± Zaber pointed at the stones instead of the castles at the horizon. ¡°Has to be the residence of the local earl, with a small banner. The other one¡¯s probably where the Auror, or even Archauror, lives. Maybe the abbot of this,¡± said Zaber and pointed at the pine cone. ¡°Or both. Airich often ranted about the petty quarrels of local authority. This looks like one of these power plays where you build a shinier castle right next to another one. To show how much more coin they can raise.¡±


    ¡°And the one behind us is a landed knight?¡± Torm pointed behind them, even though the keep wasn¡¯t visible from their position. ¡°Like that captain and his lieutenant?¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± replied Zaber with a curt nod. ¡°This valley¡¯s an important hub. That¡¯s at least one more knight, but they often have some sons, brothers and squires around.¡±


    ¡°Why, by the Kraken, wait here?¡± asked Torm, fixing his felt cap and hair to not obstruct his aim. ¡°That¡¯s a dozen or more mages, not even counting the three we¡¯re about to fuck with.¡±


    An unsettling smirk formed on Zaber¡¯s lips. ¡°I want them to feel safe. We ain¡¯t fighting them here, we¡¯ll just study them. How they respond; what¡¯s their composure.¡± The grip on his blade tightened. ¡°They got me last time, that¡¯s not going to happen again. We ain¡¯t up against the city¡¯s watch, this time we know their numbers. They¡¯re well trained, but the element of surprise is ours.¡±


    Torm remembered the days in Teblen and felt torn about his mentor¡¯s expression. Plans like this were his strength. The boy knew that Zaber had succeeded with tactics like that against the Morells and members of the Sellsword¡¯s Guild that made their move into Westwatch. Damned they be, he and Asher even bailed out the Red Mob from the guards once. His mentor had helped Marghe¡¯s girls over and over by coming out of nowhere.


    Thinking about all of this, Torm shut his eyes, and gloom filled his mind. What were all of their friends in Teblen doing now? Neither he nor Zaber had much time to say their farewells. Zaber decided to leave¡­ as if they meant nothing.


    ¡°Do you ever think of Teblen?¡± asked Torm after staring at the map for too long.


    The painfully enthusiastic expression Zaber had when thinking about his plan gradually changed after this question. ¡°No,¡± he lied. How could he not? Everything that went wrong was in Teblen. Asher¡­ died in Teblen. It was in Teblen where he and his best friend fucked up and got Ceyhan killed. Teblen was the place he came the closest to a feeling he had lost a long time ago. The good folk of Westwatch, the Red Mob ¨C even the Morells in an unsettling way. Every day he thought about the Yesilians he made a promise to. These faces that reminded him of the prisoners they took and never returned. Hanifa¡¯s words were haunting Zaber, and drove him forward. Teblen¡­ Westwatch was his home. Ever since he stepped into The Red Carpet, he had felt something returning to him that he thought lost.


    ¡°No?¡± repeated Torm, turning around from his position to face Zaber directly. ¡°Horseshit, I don¡¯t believe you. Not even Marghe?¡± The apprentice¡¯s brows were raised as he stared at his mentor in disbelief.


    ¡°The fuck do you even know,¡± uttered Zaber and concentrated even more on the road below. ¡°When the transport comes, we¨C¡±


    ¡°I know every single rumor and lie that these idiots tell about you,¡± interjected Torm. He and Zaber used to have a lot of time for themselves, to talk, joke, train, everything. If the boy wasn¡¯t going to say it now, there might be no other chance anymore. Breg and Buron made the greasy and unkempt man relax, but whenever Zaber didn¡¯t want to talk about something, these two were siding with him. ¡°I know which of them are true, and which aren¡¯t. Nobody knows you better than I do, not even¨C¡± He halted, as Zaber¡¯s gaze twitched over to him. ¡°All I¡¯m sayin¨C¡±


    ¡°Boy.¡± The veteran lifted his hand slowly and clenched it to a fist. ¡°This is not the time. Also, this is none of your damned b¨C¡±


    ¡°No, fuck you,¡± interrupted Torm yet again, struggling to keep his voice down. ¡°They say you sleep around ¨C with the Yesilians, horses, and even me. That¡¯s what these folk do to folk they hate. But you know what they say about Marghe to make her look bad? Someone whose job it is to sleep around?¡±


    ¡°Stop it,¡± ordered Zaber with a trembling fist. ¡°Keep your eyes on the road. I don¡¯t want to talk about any of this.¡± He pointed downhill with two fingers and turned away from his apprentice. If he looked at him any longer, he might¡­ ¡°It¡¯s over. We¡¯ll start over when we get Sagir back to his home; in Yesilia.¡±


    ¡°Are you going nuts?¡± the boy responded, but did as he was told, watching the road. ¡°I mean, actually insane. That might have worked with Kovada and Yaris on our side, but they¡¯ll kill our pale arses over there.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what I promised to Hanifa.¡± Zaber¡¯s voice rasped up. ¡°Now stop, or¨C¡±


    ¡°Or what?!¡± Torm¡¯s voice rose, but no other word followed. It wasn¡¯t a hard punch that smacked the boy in the face, but enough to roll him to the side. He looked at Zaber, dumbfounded, holding his face. Not because of any pain, but he had never been hit outside of sparring.


    ¡°Boy,¡± repeated Zaber with an iron glance. ¡°I have to fix this, then we¡¯ll figure this out. First, we got some killing to do.¡±


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°You¡­¡± Torm switched from rubbing his cheek to rubbing his wrist before returning into position. ¡°You know how much I hate being called a boy.¡±


    ¡°When the transport reaches this spot here¨C¡± Zaber ran his finger over the map drawn in the dirt and put down two crosses on opposite sides of the road. ¡°I¡¯ll give you and Buron a signal. You¡¯ll take a shot at the foremost rider, or whoever you can see the best on our side of the wagon. If you can, shoot at the line magician. Or the officers.¡±


    The feelings inside of Torm were conflicted. His lungs felt even more constricted than before, and he didn¡¯t know if he wanted to punch back, cry or just stomp away. But there was no damn time for this. The boy knew that Zaber was right in that they had to finish what they began. But¡­ just but.


    Zaber broke some branches and positioned them as their enemies, still grinding his teeth. His fist hurt in a way that he had never felt before. ¡°With a bit of luck, you might even kill or hurt one. But don¡¯t stress it. I want to see if they unhorse to pursue and fight us, or if they try to take their horses into the woods,¡± said Zaber and moved the twigs around. ¡°We¡¯ll retreat as soon as we see their reaction. There¡¯s no way they can follow us and the echoes and tree crowns won¡¯t let their spells reach us up here.¡± The greasy and unkempt man smirked again, shrugging his feelings off in anticipation. ¡°If you own the peaks, you rule the valley.¡±


    ¡°No reloading, just running,¡± said Torm, showing that this was just a refresher and he remembered the plan. ¡°Got it.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± nodded Zaber, facing Torm. But he couldn¡¯t look at him, instead scratching the scar along his jaw. ¡°You move where I move. If they catch up, Breg and I might get a good stab at one of their horses. They¡¯ll tire out on foot, that¡¯s why we ain¡¯t in armor.¡±


    ¡°Buron and I aren¡¯t fighting?¡± The boy flung his hand against the bauernwehr that was stuck in the ground for easy access, making it wiggle around a bit. ¡°At all?¡±


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t want them to know how good you are. Only the line magician saw you fight a bit, and he knows jack shit about fighting.¡± Zaber smiled and bumped his fist against Torm¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Only reload if they curl up and take defensive positions. We¡¯ll rain down on them until we run out of bolts or they make a move.¡±


    Torm returned the smile. He knew he shouldn¡¯t forgive his mentor for what just happened ¨C but. Instead, he tried to spot Buron and Breg on the other side of the valley, to no success. This surely wasn¡¯t the three veterans¡¯ first time, there was no reason to not trust them. Especially after he was unable to spot a man of Breg¡¯s size.


    ¡°Last night we found out that their security is tight,¡± said Torm, observing the road. ¡°What if it¡¯s the same today? What comes next?¡±


    ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll slow them down. If he¡¯s a pansy, he might seek aid from the earl and get denied. Skim the mountains for us if he¡¯s really dumb,¡± replied Zaber, then paused to let his eyes wander, as if he heard something. ¡°In the morrow, we¡¯ll test their resilience even more. Fell some lumber, build some barricades. Dig a trench or two and cover them up.¡±


    ¡°Wait, on the road?¡± Torm shook his head confused. ¡°That¡¯s solid cobble, built deep by the Iridians. Maybe at the side, but¨C¡±


    ¡°Boy, have you seen Breg?¡± scoffed Zaber, still looking for the noise. ¡°He eats cobble for breakfast.¡±


    ¡°Uhm¨C¡± The boy stumbled over his own words. ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°Yes, he does.¡±


    A faint, bashful smile flashed across both of their faces before they turned their attention towards the target. The tension was getting at Torm, as he deemed himself the weak spot of this operation. Little did he know that Zaber hadn¡¯t slept for two nights straight. After the boy and Thyra went to sleep after a training session, Zaber needed time for himself ¨C to calm down. Something his apprentice was used to and didn¡¯t think about too much. It was Buron who administered small portions of poppy juice to keep Zaber afloat. The pain might have been over, but there was only one way to feel normal right now. The bald veteran and his colossal companion were concerned, but what else was there to do? This was war, and they needed to bring their best.


    After a while, a ¡°Psht,¡± from Zaber broke the silence. He raised his hand to halt a shot and Torm leaned into the crossbow to pick a target. There was a clean line of sight for the one with the most glamorous armor. The sallet of Beotold hung from the side, and his perfectly combed blonde hair stood out like a sore nail. Torm recognized him from the fight in their home, shield and all. His underling, a smaller man with smeared hair and a beard, wore kastenbrust armor.


    Zaber opened his raised fist and put a finger and thumb into his mouth, waiting for the right moment. The convoy was fully visible and the greasy and unkempt man¡¯s eye rested on Sagir. Behind wooden bars, he was surrounded by other prisoners. They looked weak and tired, dirty and beaten. Lingering on one long breath, an ear-splitting whistle echoed through the valley. Two bolts let loose from both sides of the transport. One splintered all over the captain¡¯s armor, the other at the foremost rider in front of the carriage. The nobleman and his soldier had to cover their faces, but none appeared injured. The man upfront nearly fell from his horse, but the spurs saved him.


    The escort came to a halt and the cavalrymen were positioning themselves outwards, skimming the area for threats. They were ready to fight, and their lieutenant raised a fist. ¡°Hold!¡± he yelled and the valley was filled with a far reaching, booming bass. Everyone reached for their helmets, as they waited for an order. ¡°Spread out!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± commanded Beotold. ¡°Break through, we¡¯re nearly there.¡± Pointing forward, he shortened the reins of his steed.


    ¡°You heard the Captain,¡± barked Romund. ¡°Cornet!¡± added the knight, driving a shiver through the guildsman that sat next to the coachman.


    Genhard looked miserable. He was the only one without armor, wearing his nice gown that hadn¡¯t been washed in a while. His blonde hair, flowing into wild sideburns, was unbefitting for a man of his status. With one arm in a sling, resting on his lap. The patrician bumped his shoulder into the pilot as he said something muffled to him. And then they moved fast.


    The inmates were rattled by the pavement and the cavalrymen were too fast for a good aim. Only the Captain stayed behind a bit longer. He led his horse around itself to look in every direction. His eyes strolled through the woods as his cavalier baritone carried far and wide through the valley.


    ¡°I will not fall for your low cunning, peasant son!¡± yelled Beotold, pronouncing every word in self-importance. ¡°If you want this to end, we can face each other as the men of war we are! Await me on the road and my men will lay no finger on you!¡±


    ¡°Reload,¡± whispered Zaber. ¡°Fucking arsehole.¡±


    Torm did as he was told with a wide grin. The next shot missed by a couple of inches, ricocheting off the pavement.


    ¡°There are no duels in war, you entitled, stupid¨C¡± yelled Zaber, as he got up and turned around, pulling Torm with him. They sheathed their weapons and ducked away, when they heard a full-throated laughter from the road.


    ¡°Til the morrow, peasant son!¡±


    The duo followed an animal trail between the spruce trees. They only slowed down when their own view became fully obstructed by the shrubs and logs. Laying low, their horses were just a couple dozen yards away, tied under an overhang of the mountain.


    ¡°Back to the cave, or are we scouting the monastery?¡± asked Torm, casually stretching. He swung the crossbow around, and felt really good about himself again.


    ¡°Not worth running into a Brother,¡± said Zaber, rubbing his aching skin. His eyes were twitching at ¡®clicks¡¯ and ¡®clacks¡¯ around him. ¡°Would hate to kill one. Let¡¯s meet with the rest, see if Thyra figured out¨C¡± He suddenly stopped after rubbing his horse¡¯s neck as a greeting.


    ¡°You sure the cave is safe? There might be bears or wol¨C¡± Torm also stopped.


    A young man, somewhere between Zaber and Torm in age, squatted in a bush next to them. When he got spotted, he stood up and held his hands high. Frizzy hair, a sharp face and strong nose ¨C his eyes popped out of his skull when confronted with the armed duo. He had a thin beard, well kept, and dirt on his knees. His hand slowly moved towards the lumber axe he wore with a cord on his belt.


    ¡°Do you want to keep that hand?¡± said Zaber emotionless, cracking his tense shoulders and neck.


    ¡°Scusa, nearly panicked,¡± replied the young man, and shrugged with a sheepish smile. He held his hands up again. As he scratched his hair, the small iron ring piercing his left ear tingled. ¡°I don¡¯t want any trouble.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a gal¨¢zian accent,¡± said Torm, putting down his crossbow and drawing his bauernwehr. ¡°You¡¯re not from here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just here to look for dry wood,¡± said the young man with wide eyes, pointing behind himself. ¡°We¡¯re from the Murm village over the mountain.¡±


    ¡°Stay back, boy,¡± ordered Zaber and came closer to the young man. He mustered him from head to toe. Noticing an old slashing scar across his fingers, the veteran¡¯s eyes narrowed. He and Asher had similar ones ¨C the kinds one wouldn¡¯t get from cutting wood but from swordplay. Even blunt weapons in a spar could cause them. ¡°Who are we?¡±


    ¡°Me and my brother,¡± said the man. His accent was thick, but his Albinian was otherwise without flaw. There was nothing remarkable on him. He wore simple striped chausses and a dirty linen tunic with a vest from sheep¡¯s hide. Even the dirt in his face didn¡¯t look like it was put on by hand. ¡°We dodged the draft in our hometown on the other side of the border. Now we live here.¡±


    Torm stayed behind and watched his mentor come face-to-face with their unexpected encounter. But he readied his weapon. Zaber stared the young man down, which did not change his confident posture. The way he became meek and avoided the veteran¡¯s gaze felt off.


    ¡°Fuck off,¡± said Zaber and waved him away. ¡°If you lied to me, I will hurt you.¡±


    ¡°Gr¨C, Grazie!¡± stuttered the man with a smile, adjusting his vest and running away.


    The pair of mentor and apprentice followed him as long as he was in sight, after which they looked at each other. Returning to his horse, Zaber asked: ¡°What does scoosa and gracy mean?¡±


    ¡°No clue,¡± shrugged Torm and packed the crossbow. ¡°I speak the western dialect, that was High Gal¨¢zian I think. Likely sorry and thanks?¡±

 Chapter 28 - Day Three

    Chapter 28


    Day Three ¨C Forenoon


    It was too soon for the doors of The Red Carpet to be open yet. Heading over from Yesilian Street, Zaber¡¯s steps were slow and his face dark. He wasn¡¯t looking forward to the conversation ahead of him, but he promised to come. There was no way for this to end well¡­


    Two knocks later, Ruwer¡¯s blue eyes, uptwirling mustache and gray hair popped up behind the colored glass of the door. Two ¡®clicks¡¯ and ¡®clacks¡¯ later, and the lock, and thus door, were open. ¡°Greetings,¡± said the old muscle. ¡°Thanks for helping out.¡±


    Zaber and Ruwer nodded at each other in mutual respect.


    ¡°Just ran into it,¡± replied the greasy and unkempt man as he stepped into the taproom. Not much had changed here in four years. Broken furniture was replaced. Some curiously shaped decorations and raunchy drawings came and went. And the smell¡­ never changed.


    ¡°Aye, the usual,¡± smiled Ruwer. He didn¡¯t wear his tailored gambeson or jack-chains. Walking aside, he sat down on his little chair next to the door. He picked up a needle and thread to mend something inside his feathered hat.


    ¡°¡¯aight, I¡¯m here,¡± said Zaber, walking up to the counter where nobody worked right now. During these hours, no new customers were allowed to come in. Only those who had booked a room overnight were inside the big house. Until noon went by, working folk rested, and the first men flowed in. Zaber was still armed, and nobody seemed to care.


    The room was mostly filled with children under the age of ten, running around, yelling and playing. Only two mothers were here, Geda and Lossa, who ran around in their most covering undergarments. The way customers would never see them.


    Marghe was clothed in a lavish teal dress, adorned with red bands and ribbons. Her flowing strawberry blonde hair looked a bit more ruffled than previously. She leaned onto her hands at the table. Unbothered by the loud children, she listened to another woman who sat with her.


    ¡°Hello to you too,¡± said Marghe, and looked at Zaber. Her girls and some of the kids waved at Zaber, which he returned without much enthusiasm. ¡°Come over,¡± she smiled and patted a chair next to her. ¡°I need to finish this business first.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber and walked through the room, dodging a running child on the way. His thumbs were inside of his belt until he got to the seat next to Marghe. He moved it a bit further away from her, even though he was unfazed by the amount of shoulders and bosom exposed. Tense as he was, always, Zaber didn¡¯t feel uncomfortable.


    ¡°And can you stop acting like a sulky toddler?¡± added Marghe, turning back towards the old woman that she shared a table with. ¡°We have enough of those around.¡±


    ¡°Defiler,¡± greeted the old woman. She wore dirty gray clothes with a white cloak around her shoulders and a simple coif. Around her neck, a tarnished silver necklace of the White Sister peeked out.


    ¡°Hag,¡± answered Zaber, leaned back and waited for his turn.


    The woman was indeed haggard, with bony fingers and the face of a lifetime. And she reeked of cheap wine. Her nod to Zaber ended her attention towards him, and she returned her unsteady gaze to Marghe. ¡°The child needs to be kept in a separate room until the White Sister shows her full gown. If any of the other children cough, lock them away too,¡± said the old woman and pulled up a leather bag from beneath the table. ¡°Only broth and roots for the lass. And burdock brew.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can keep her mother away, Rughert,¡± said Marghe and grabbed the hot brew in front of her, taking a sip. ¡°What if any of my girls get it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± Rughert coughed onto her fist, leaving dark marks. ¡°Lock her in, swallow the key. I blessed your girls, for how much it is still worth. They should be safe.¡±


    ¡°Dear, you look like a wandering corpse these days,¡± sighed Marghe and tried to reach for the old woman¡¯s hands, who denied her. ¡°What happened about getting an appr¨C¡±


    ¡°Well, you look like the talk of town,¡± interrupted Rughert. ¡°There¡¯ll be no apprentice. My shame dies with me.¡±


    ¡°You dumb old hag!¡± hissed Marghe and grabbed the old woman¡¯s hands by force, to see how much they trembled. ¡°Westwatch needs you.¡±


    Hearing the madam throughout the taproom, the children began to chant ¡®dumb old hag¡¯, supported by Geda and Lossa. It was so obnoxious that even Zaber couldn¡¯t think about his upcoming plans anymore. Or how to talk to Marghe about them. The two women at the table weren¡¯t bothered by the children, as if they didn¡¯t exist. But the veteran¡¯s gaze lingered on them. After a long breath, he smiled. He looked back at Marghe, noticing how her lips curled the way that only happened when she was angry. And she was right. There was no other affordable physician than this disgraced Sister of the Stars.


    ¡°A dirty whore¡¯s opinion.¡± Rughert went back to rummage through her leather bag, disregarding the owner of this establishment. ¡°As always,¡± she said and put a vial of dark brown extract in front of her. ¡°Black cohosh; for you.¡±


    Marghe closed her eyes, calmed down and took the medicine. ¡°Thank you,¡± she uttered. ¡°What about Brielle?¡± She took another sip, looking up the stairs to the flower rooms. Her gaze fell on Zaber for just a moment, and a faint smile flared up. ¡°She¡¯s still early, the usual¨C¡±


    ¡°Leave the diagnosis to me,¡± interrupted the hag, coughing again. It developed into a coughing fit for a moment, but she didn¡¯t let Marghe touch her in any way. ¡°I don¡¯t tell you about whoring either.¡± Rughert pushed the madam¡¯s hands away. ¡°You still have plenty of birthwort. Tighten her girdle, make her fast for a few of days and send her to Vaul in Rygen. He knows and will accept her help for some hard labor.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± sighed Marghe, grunting even. ¡°That is the usual.¡±


    ¡°Well, if you know so much better, I¡¯ll leave now,¡± said the disgraced sister, stood up, sat down again and coughed some more. She held tight to the sleeves of her robes until she was done and finished packing up her bag. ¡°We¡¯ll see each other in ten days.¡±


    Standing up and laying her arms around the reeking old hag, Marghe whispered something into her ear that Zaber wasn¡¯t able to hear. Nor did he try.


    ¡°¡¯til ten days,¡± smiled Marghe. ¡°As always.¡±


    The old woman straightened her robes and fixed her coif. When she walked outside, she nearly ran into a couple of chairs and tables and only made it to the door with Ruwer¡¯s help. The veteran guildsword unlocked the door for her and slipped a bottle of white wine into her bag. Everyone saw it, but nobody said anything.


    The taproom of The Red Carpet was cleaned every morning by the children of those who worked here. After that, it was all theirs for the day. When the establishment opened, they were let loose into the streets of Westwatch. There was also a small shack around the house that led into a staired back entrance. When Zaber saw these little scoundrels, he always had the same thought about them: they might be bastards with nothing to inherit, but they did not have to work in their family¡¯s business or the fields. In some way, these were the freest children in Teblen.


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    There was no true silence in this room, but there was between Zaber and Marghe. No matter how long she looked at him, how much she pushed him with her eyes ¨C the veteran said nothing. ¡°So¨C¡± Marghe lingered on her words. ¡°Sagir?¡±


    ¡°Not here,¡± said Zaber, but did not move.


    Standing in front of the table, Marghe stared at the veteran frustrated. ¡°Does Your Highness need to be carried?¡± Her eyes urged Zaber. ¡°Get up, let¡¯s move to the Prince¡¯s Suite.¡±


    Zaber got up, grunting, and followed Marghe to the side-room next to the stage on the other side of the counter. Even though gambling was common in the taproom itself, Ruwer had an eye on too high sums being thrown around. A patrician or well-heeled artisan could quickly get their arse handed to them if they just out-spent the usual customer who wasted away in the brothel.


    For that purpose, Marghe¡¯s mother had established the Prince¡¯s Suite. She also let some of the dealers and shakers of Westwatch do serious business inside of it, as a kind of neutral ground. When the Yesilians who helped keep The Red Carpet peaceful needed to deal with the Red Mob. Or if the Morells wanted to talk to any of these groups. Even masters of the Guild¡¯s Council sometimes showed up there and Asher used it on the regular. As long as it meant peace, Marghe would cooperate with anyone.


    The suite itself was a cozy room with a giant round table in the center. Carved legs and edges depicting all sorts of tits, arses and cunts. The curiosities that filled the room were far from tasteful, and everybody seemed to love them. Cocks carved from deer antler, small statues of naked saints in salacious positions and bare-chested paintings of the most popular girls who had ever worked there. Including Marghe and her mother.


    ¡°Can you stop it now?¡± asked Marghe, as she closed the door behind Zaber. She sat on the table and crossed her legs, waiting for an answer.


    ¡°What? I ain¡¯t¨C¡± The greasy and unkempt man leaned against the wall, minding none of the decoration.


    ¡°Acting like a stubborn stupid ass,¡± interrupted Marghe. Her hands were open towards the veteran, as were her eyes. ¡°Please? It¡¯s too early to fill you up. This once, act like the man I know you are.¡±


    Zaber¡¯s brows were narrowed and the muscles on his jaw twitched. Scratching the scar on it, he ran his hand upwards and took off the arming cap. ¡°¡¯aight,¡± he said, pulled a chair from the table and sat right in front of Marghe, looking up into her eyes. ¡°This¡¯ goodbye.¡±


    Closing her eyes, sighing and folding her hands, Marghe returned the look. ¡°What is that even supposed to mean?¡± she responded with a hint of frustration. ¡°I only know that Sagir was arrested and that Hanifa is busy.¡±


    ¡°I fucked up,¡± said the veteran, looking at the ground in front of the madam¡¯s feet. ¡°Killed a guard two days ago. Smashed his head with Dalke¡¯s broom.¡± Looking up again, his hands landed on his knees, crawling towards Marghe¡¯s, but never reaching her. ¡°They¡¯re pinning it on Sagir to make me move. I¡¯ve overstayed my welcome.¡±


    Marghe pressed her lips together, biting them, then shook her head. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean you have to go. You can¨C¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t,¡± interrupted Zaber. ¡°But Sagir has to. I¡¯ll break him out and take him home.¡±


    ¡°Home?¡± pressed Marghe, kicking Zaber lightly from the height of the table. ¡°I told you to speak like a human. A real boy.¡±


    Narrowing his eyes, Zaber¡¯s stare changed. ¡°You know I don¡¯t like that.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Marghe, high pitched. ¡°Stop being an ass.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take him to Yesilia, where he belongs,¡± replied Zaber, softening again. ¡°With some more Yesilians who¡¯ll help me and Torm. Asher and my other comrades will help me too.¡±


    ¡°This is ridiculous.¡± Marghe put her hands on her forehead, turning her head towards the ceiling. ¡°Stop being ridiculous. The whole city will turn on you, do you really believe in these silly rumors yourself now?¡±


    ¡°I have the perfect plan,¡± said Zaber and a faint smile formed. ¡°I promised Hanifa. And I promised Cey¨C¡±


    ¡°You did not promise that to Ceyhan,¡± hissed Marghe, curling her lips and looking down again. ¡°I was in the room. You and Asher were wasted, everyone was. You told him you would make good for what you did to his kin.¡± She leaned forward, grabbed the veteran¡¯s shoulder with one hand and shook him. ¡°You. Did. Not. Kill. Him.¡±


    ¡°Men like him are here because of men like me,¡± said Zaber, laying a hand on Marghe¡¯s. But he did not have the strength to push her away. ¡°Hanifa and their council agree. This is going to happen.¡±


    ¡°What¨C¡± The madam leaned even further towards Zaber and put her other hand on his other shoulder. ¡°What if I ask you not to?¡±


    ¡°It¨C¡± Zaber halted, scratching the scar along his jaw. ¡°It won¡¯t matter. I have to do this.¡±


    ¡°No you don¡¯t,¡± replied Marghe, letting go of Zaber. She stood up and walked through the room, flailing her hands up and down, looking for words. ¡°Whatever is going on with you in that temple, you do not need to do this. You can make any decision you want to.¡± Her eyes stopped at the picture of her mother. ¡°Why don¡¯t you even try to be better? I know it¡¯s hard, but¨C¡± She turned around, with soft eyes and unsteady breath. ¡°Westwatch needs you.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Zaber and got up. ¡°This is me trying to be better. And¨C¡± There was no strength in his legs to walk away. Nor to approach Marghe. Zaber just stood there, rested his hands close to his weapons. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll not forget you. Or anyone.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± The madam pulled up a chair and sat down, slouched and resting her arms on the table. ¡°If drunken Zaber has taught me one thing about sober Zaber, it¡¯s that he doesn¡¯t forget.¡±


    ¡°Goodbye.¡± The greasy and unkempt man showed no emotions. Just nodded. ¡°Tell Salm and the fellas.¡±


    ¡°Please, come back,¡± uttered Marghe. ¡°If you can¡¯t do anything, at least come back. I can hide you, or you could live in Elandis on the other side of the river. Just¨C¡±


    Neither of them moved, nor looked at each other. The children¡¯s yells and laughter sounded through the walls. Marghe knew that if she yelled, her girls would hear her and Ruwer might knock on the door to check. Everyone around her was stupid and nobody got what¡¯s best. Nobody ever fucking listened to her, in this ¨C her ¨C establishment.


    ¡°I thought we were friends,¡± said Marghe when she finally looked up. ¡°And that you¡¯d do anything for your friends.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll survive,¡± said Zaber. He stepped next to the table and reached for Marghe¡¯s hand, but only placed it next to her. ¡°There¡¯ll be something for you. In the woods north, I¡¯ll bury something for you and the girls. I¡¯ll try to¨C¡± The veteran turned around and walked to the door. ¡°I¡¯ll write you.¡±


    When Zaber opened the door, Geda fell into him. Two children were right next to her, staring at Zaber in shock. When he moved out, they ran away, screaming. Geda smiled sheepishly at the veteran, but looked focused on Marghe. The greasy and unkempt man¡¯s boots sounded heavy when he made way to the exit. His and Ruwer¡¯s eyes met each other half-way and the old guildsword hesitated to get out the keys to let Zaber out.


    ¡°Don¡¯t die a fool,¡± nodded Ruwer.


    Zaber nodded back. ¡°Do your job.¡±

 Chapter 29 - Day Fourteen

    Chapter 29


    Day Fourteen ¨C Forenoon


    ¡°D¨C, don¡¯t you think this is rushed?¡± asked Thyra, holding the reins all by herself. The lack of confidence in her posture was unrelated to riding on her own. Her voice was nearly drowned by the hooves on the cobbled pavement. ¡°Don¡¯t you have more¨C¡± She halted with an unsteady breath. ¡°Scouting? Probing to do?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± replied Zaber, his unbreakable gaze cast forward. ¡°Y¡¯all saw them on the yester. There¡¯s no more intel.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Zaber,¡± butted Torm in. ¡°Yes we saw them.¡± His hazy blue eyes were like steel, glued to the road. Unlike Zaber''s, they lacked determination and were filled with questions. ¡°How, under the Stars, can we even fight that?¡±


    Nothing too unusual was discovered by the three veterans. They¡¯d talked about what they saw, shared their thoughts about it, and had come to a conclusion. This captain was indeed something else, as was his lieutenant. But not more than what Zaber, Breg and Buron had seen before ¨C nothing out of the ordinary. They were no Airich. But Torm and Thyra had never seen anything like that before. For the rugged woman, her entire world had been her mother, a hut in the bogs, a bunch of animals and a nightskrat. The younger ones among the five companions felt a crawling under their skin. The show of force they¡¯d witnessed left a shock in their guts and gnawing in their bones.


    Thyra wasn¡¯t there for every step of the previous day. As she was a working gal, she wanted to have a break from all the studying and help with the digging. Building roadblocks didn¡¯t sound too dangerous. And was she damned wrong.


    They¡¯d dug a hole into the King¡¯s Road first, out in the open, rather amateurishly. The real traps were the hidden trenches to the side of it, with wooden spikes inside and sods of grass to cover it up. Best outcome would¡¯ve been a couple horses lost, maybe a wounded soldier or two. Beotold, though, decided to halt and drive fear into Torm and anger into Zaber. The veterans recognized that this knight was filled with as much low cunning as he called them out for ¨C as much as any good officer should have. He let Sagir and his fellow prisoners out, chained, and instructed them to push the cart without horses. Off the road to the side, breaking the patches of grass and sticks that hid the trench as the first wheels rolled over it. Beotold made them work it, pull it up, and find a spot they could use. This knight didn¡¯t care about the Margrave¡¯s quota if he could take Sagir hostage for it.


    What provoked the visceral reaction of Torm and Thyra was the second roadblock though. With open trenches to the side and a mound of ridged soil on the road. The inexperienced boy and young woman were not prepared for what they saw. Full trees, uncleaned of branches and needles, were peppered over the barricade. A big mess that was impossible to bypass, with thick forest to the sides. Enough of a mess to even get the knights themselves involved. A show of force, well aware that they were watched, the two officers unsaddled and dealt with it. To those who never went to a proper war, there wasn¡¯t a clear picture of what the nobility was capable of.


    The same spell that shattered the remaining glass in Teblen, back in the temple, thundered away the logs. Splintering them all over the King¡¯s Road with his perfect cavalier baritone. His second in command was barely less impressive. He split the earthen mass in two, helped by the movements of his arms, and pushed them into the trenches. Both of them put their backs into it, breathed properly and prepared themselves beforehand. It was the upper mark of their strength, and the lieutenant had the Constellation of Bear on his side as well, explained Thyra later. Without that, there was most likely a gap between them, justifying the difference in rank. Most importantly, it demonstrated to Torm and Thyra why war revolved around them. Mere foot soldiers were expendable.


    ¡°I¨C¡± Thyra was still dumbfounded. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m cut out for this. I haven¡¯t even figured out the spell yet, and you can barely hold a note. We¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± Buron cut her off. ¡°We do the heavy lifting. Torm keeps you safe,¡± he smiled.


    ¡°No, serious!¡± Torm looked at the veterans, then through the conifer trees around them, and lastly at Thyra. The rugged woman was just as stumped as the boy. ¡°How do you fight that?¡±


    ¡°Not,¡± replied Zaber, dryly. ¡°You haven¡¯t even seen the worst. Under the right Constellation, Airich scorched a way more competent roadblock to ashes.¡± Remembering the day, the greasy and unkempt man could see the flames. Feel the flames. Hear them. ¡°Commonfolk like us ain¡¯t fighting them on equal footing. We need our own officers to do this disharmony horseshit. Or strengthen and support us with their spells. So we can fucking die for them.¡±


    ¡°We need to be swift,¡± said Breg, who hadn¡¯t said a single word for miles. Before a big battle, he became even more withdrawn. Thinking about what lay ahead, his voice was filled with thrill. The ghosts he had to deal with weren¡¯t as loud as his friend¡¯s, and the only way to shut them up was to fight. ¡°Disrupt their breathing, prevent them from speaking aloud.¡± The unreasonably tall man looked at his bald companion, who returned the smile. ¡°Grab the blackhead and get out.¡±


    ¡°And Thyra fills the air with magic. You do nothing but this. Sing loud ¨C as loud as you can. Push yourself as far as it gets,¡± said Zaber, his eyes weighing heavy on Thyra. ¡°I work best under pressure. I¡¯ve heard this spell a hundred; a thousand times. I will hit the right notes. Because I have to.¡±


    Thyra felt Zaber¡¯s piercing gaze on her. Ever since they¡¯d saddled up, the veteran¡¯s gaze was on the road ¨C until now. And that made her gulp. ¡°What the¨C¡± uttered the rugged woman.


    Far ahead of them, just after the next turn behind more trees, a blazing bonfire had been built on the pavement. The wind had blown into their backs, thus the smell hadn¡¯t reached them and the smoke had been broken up. The four men¡¯s faces turned humorless and their horses slowed down. Breg sniffed the cinders, as his and Zaber¡¯s face turned dark.


    A single man stood in front of the blockade, without cover or shame. He was meager stature, except for the pot belly that stood out even from afar. Roughly the same height as Buron or Torm, he wore no armor except for a coat-like gambeson with open buckles. It presented his dirty, wide undercoat, cut to show the hair on his chest. Knee high riding boots and a thin, cheap leather belt with a sole mercy dagger on it, not unlike Zaber¡¯s own stiletto. Coming closer, his face and built became more evident. Jet black hair with many small craters in his face, marking him a survivor of the pox. The patches left by the scars were barren of hair, but he was otherwise unshaven. At best, he was in the midst of his thirties. But he looked far from weak, with a grandiose smile that radiated at the five companions before they were close enough to speak without yelling.


    After everyone came to a halt, ordered by a raised fist, Buron circled his horse around to screen the tree lines. ¡°What now?¡± asked the scrawny veteran.


    ¡°He ain¡¯t here to surprise us,¡± said Zaber raspy, staring at the smiling man upfront. ¡°But he ain¡¯t peaceful for sure.¡±


    The man in front of the burning obstacle wore a big wooden mace like a yoke. Reinforced with metal fittings, brutal spikes were driven through it. His hands wiggled around it, as he waited with much patience.


    ¡°Can¡¯t trample him like that,¡± said Breg, petting his horse¡¯s neck. ¡°I say we break through; sprint around.¡± The grip around his reins tightened.


    ¡°No,¡± answered Zaber. ¡°There might be pitfalls. And he sure ain¡¯t alone.¡± Swinging his legs around the horse, Zaber¡¯s feet hit the cobbled road. ¡°Get the crossbows out, cover me. I¡¯ll size him up, he obviously wants to talk.¡± He turned around and looked at the boy and the young woman. ¡°Torm¡¯s on guard duty; you warm up your voice. If you get one of your old songs out, we can play this safe and avoid injury.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll come with,¡± said Breg and unsaddled as well. He straightened his beard once before grabbing the bardiche axe from the side of his horse. ¡°If they shoot one of us, the other one takes him hostage.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight.¡± The greasy and unkempt man nodded and walked towards the highwayman. The closer the two veterans came, the stranger did the man in front of them look. His hair had an unnatural darkness to it and he slightly bobbed back and forth. His feet were shaking and he played the air with his finger, like an instrument.


    ¡°Is he¨C¡± Breg stumbled over his words. ¡°Is he dancing?¡±


    ¡°Mes amis!¡± A scratchy voice rang towards the unreasonably tall man and his tense leader. ¡°You have nothing to fear! I have come to parler.¡±


    ¡°To what?¡± asked Zaber, brows narrowed, and came to a halt at three lengths of Breg¡¯s weapon. ¡°We ain¡¯t scared, but what¡¯s with that stick of yours? And the nice warm fire there.¡±


    ¡°How many are hiding around us?¡± added Breg, building himself up to full might.


    ¡°Quoi?¡± asked the man amused, forming a cone with his hand to better hear. ¡°You do not tremble in fear?¡± He slapped his belly and swung his mace to the ground. ¡°My nom is Franque, and I command a frightening force of eight. We have observ¨¦ you over the last days. You and your camarades have something in commun with me and my merry men. I need to demander of you¨C¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight, shut up.¡± Zaber looked at Breg and shook his head. ¡°You need to talk real words or this ain¡¯t going nowhere,¡± said the tired veteran, rubbing his eyes and nose. ¡°Let¡¯s start by you telling us straight why the fuck you¡¯re tailing us.¡± Drawing his blade, Zaber took one small step closer. ¡°Or else.¡±


    ¡°Or else?¡± repeated Franque, cackling to himself. ¡°Mes ¨¦toiles, what does that mean? You have three on your side¡­¡± His speech slowed down, looking past the angered veterans in front of him. ¡°With two arbal¨¨tes loaded, if I compte right? That truc sauvage has no sign of battle on her.¡± The highwayman smiled at Thyra, showing that his front teeth were chipped off. ¡°Trust me, you do not know how many fl¨¦ches are aimed at your hot heads.¡±


    Breg raised his bardiche over one shoulder and grabbed it with both hands, ready to strike. Placing his free hand on his hip, close to his stiletto, Zaber put forth his blade as well. Their usual tenseness made way for another kind of suspense. One might say, they finally looked natural, cocked and ready to fire.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t be a fool,¡± said the greasy and unkempt man, snorting and spitting onto the ground. ¡°Your blood will be all over the King¡¯s Road before the both of us go down.¡± Zaber¡¯s threat was accompanied by a melodic creak of the wooden pole in Breg¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Mes amis¨C¡± The brigand opened his body up, reaching left and right. ¡°I am sure one of you will reach me,¡± he said, winking at Breg, flirtatious. ¡°I bet it will be this magnifique monstruosit¨¦. But you are right, I am not a fou.¡±


    Unprompted, the man in front of the burning barricade burst into a loud, throaty laughter. Echoing through the entire valley, he grabbed his mace as a yoke again. The scratchy ring to it infected Breg and Zaber, making their fingers itch and lips curl into a smile. The sound of it alarmed Buron and Torm, pulling Thyra with them. More than the antics of a madman, a second figure stepped forward from behind the barricade. Clad in a complete set of dented, battle-marked white armor in the style of Southern Gal¨¢zion. A couple generations older in style, the man-at-arm¡¯s face hid away under a frog-mouthed helmet. Similar in size to Franque, he was armed with a two-handed Flamberge. His steps weren¡¯t threatening, but the way the oversized sword was handled sure was.


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    ¡°Nice tourney armor,¡± said Zaber, mustering the extra foe as they came to a halt next to that bastard. The stance was solid, aggressive, and rivaled Breg¡¯s leverage and reach. ¡°What you gonna do? Joust us?¡±


    ¡°No, no, no.¡± Franque spoke for his silent companion. ¡°You misunderstood. I am no match for your compagnon, but I assure you¨C¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight, that¡¯s it.¡± Zaber¡¯s and Breg¡¯s feet slowly shifted closer towards the highwaymen. Their stances lowered on their own. ¡°If you insist on talking like that, we¡¯ll gotta talk a language we all know too well. Call out your soldiers, I¡¯ll call mine. All weapons out.¡±


    That infectious laughter rang aloud again. No words were needed between the unreasonably tall man and his juiced up friend. This bastardly brigand hit all the right notes to make Breg and Zaber forget, a welcome warm-up.


    ¡°A?e, Asti told me you were¨C¡± Franque paused, gesticulating over Zaber with his mace. He raised his fist to comically shake it in anger. ¡°Tendu. A magnifique monstruosit¨¦ in your own right,¡± he said, putting two fingers into his mouth and howled. ¡°Impeccable, this moment is too pafrait to go to waste,¡± uttered Franque to himself, gleefully, and yelled more foreign words into the woods.


    With a raised fist, Zaber signaled his troops to move. He didn¡¯t expect them to arrive so quickly, but the clip-clopping of hooves reassured him and Breg. Four men left and right of the road stepped out of the tree lines, making Franque out to be a liar about their strength. All were armed with crossbows and goat¡¯s feet levers.


    What darkened Zaber¡¯s face was another fella coming forth behind the bonfire. Armed with a torch and a tin oil flask, or alcohol, a familiar face revealed itself. The same man that he and Torm had met around the monastery two days ago. He wore a round kettle helmet and some mailled gloves, with a dirty gambeson split in a red and tan side. Every single one of these bastards had a big smile on their faces, except for the frog-mouthed one.


    ¡°Tu voir, this is my merry ba¨C¡± laughed Franque, but stopped right in the middle.


    ¡°Boy, what¡¯s the arsehole saying?¡± asked Zaber without looking back.


    ¡°It¡¯s a Western Gal¨¢zian dialect,¡± replied Torm, aiming his crossbow at Franque. ¡°And, uh¨C¡± The apprentice needed a moment. ¡°That just meant ¡®see¡¯.¡±


    Buron looked annoyed, where his two friends were filled with anticipation and bloodlust. They focused most on the armored man, but Franque¡¯s posturing was far from unknown to the veterans either. The robbers left and right to them were mostly serious, some whimsical. But Zaber had a special spot in mind for that fella with the torch.


    Torm was mentally preparing, trying to mimic Buron and his mentor. But he couldn¡¯t let Thyra leave his mind. The boy had one order, one duty. And the rugged woman didn¡¯t look like she belonged in this crowd, unarmed and constantly looking left and right, at everyone. Overwhelmed.


    ¡°Haww, this keeps getting better!¡± Franque signaled his men to halt their shots. The signs he used were well-known to the veterans on the other side. ¡°Your petit gar?on even speaks the langage des ¨¦toiles.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me boy,¡± said Torm, and pressed the cocked crossbow harder into his shoulder.


    Franque¡¯s hands trembled. So much, he had to wave them around a little. ¡°Even the boy! Don¡¯t make me regretter this, all of you are so¨C¡±


    ¡°You heard him,¡± interrupted Zaber again. ¡°Don¡¯t call him boy.¡±


    The brigands¡¯ leader sighed, regaining control of his hands. ¡°Enough,¡± he said. ¡°I wanted to parler, not fight.¡± With another show of his fist, changing to an open hand, Franque lowered his men¡¯s weapons with a sign. Even the armored warrior next to him switched into a casual stance and lowered his Flamberge. It was still there. A sword of that size was never really not a threat when wielded like this. ¡°I mean¡­ now that I saw you all in action, I want to have combattre with you. But we have to discuter before we can massacre each other like¨C¡±


    ¡°Get to the point,¡± ordered Zaber. ¡°We¡¯ve got something more important to kill than you.¡±


    The more this man spoke, the harder wanted Zaber to punch him into his joyous teeth. And Breg felt the same. Their three companions might not share this feeling, but at least Torm and Buron knew their friends well enough. This Franque had something to him. Something the colossal and the tired veteran would love to punch out of him.


    ¡°Ouais, ouais. To the point it is,¡± replied Franque, with Torm translating every word the moment it was said. ¡°I can¡¯t let you have your little embuscade.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Yes. Ambush.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight, great talk,¡± said Zaber dryly and pulled back his blade. ¡°There¡¯s no way we ain¡¯t doing this. Now retreat back into the forest.¡±


    ¡°No, no, no,¡± laughed Franque, shaking his head in a soothing motion. ¡°Tu voir, you¡¯ll just ruin my plan and die a mort inutile¡­¡±


    ¡°See, pointless death.¡±


    ¡°¡­ You are merely four men and one peu importe.¡±


    ¡°Uhm¨C¡± Torm gasped and Franque gave him room to find the right phrase. ¡°Little does-not-matter?¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Thyra¡¯s voice pitched up. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know that I am the key to our success,¡± she said, gesticulating in playful self-importance. All that couldn¡¯t overshadow the nervous rise in pitch at the end.


    ¡°Is that so, mon ch¨¦rie?¡± The dirty brigand tilted his head to the side and eyed Thyra from head to toe. ¡°Believe me, I am the most ¨¦galitaire man to ever live. But you¨C¡± His eyes rested on the middle part of the rugged woman¡¯s body for longer than she liked. ¡°Are soft and made for confort.¡± All his men nodded, except for the frog-mouthed helmet who was unreadable.


    ¡°Shut it,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Believe me, she is. And what we have to do is more important than your horseshit. Feel free to pick up what¡¯s left when we¡¯re done.¡±


    ¡°My men here, Asti and Ludi¨C¡± Franque waved over the torchbearer and towards another man to the side. He wore the same gambeson and kettle, but with the red and tan reversed. Older than the man they had met in the woods, closer to Zaber and his friends, he also had a thin beard. However, within his armor, only a nasty cut at his mouth made him stand out otherwise. ¡°They have told me about your m¨¦thodes. I do not believe you a fou, but you lack the manpower and connaisance du terrain we have. You¡¯ll die and ruin our perfect opportunit¨¦.¡±


    ¡°He thinks they know the area better,¡± translated Torm, falling a bit behind Franque¡¯s pace of speech. ¡°Fool and¨C¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not playing the same game, snailman,¡± interrupted Buron, leaning forward on his horse. ¡°My two friends here are worth three or five of your men. And given the time, she¨C¡± He pointed at Thyra, slightly behind them. ¡°Will kill each and all of you as long as we stay on our feet. Take the offer, let us die a meaningless death and pick up the scraps.¡±


    ¡°Believe me,¡± repeated Franque, smiling with his chipped teeth. ¡°You are not the only magnifique monstruosit¨¦ around these montagnes.¡± He slapped the back of his man-at-arms, who remained motionless. ¡°I have killed before any of you have grown hair on your culs.¡±


    ¡°Arses?¡± Torm wasn¡¯t sure. ¡°Or balls?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bet on that,¡± replied Zaber, returning Franque¡¯s smile. ¡°We fighting or not?¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± Thyra raised her mezzo and clapped her hands above her head. ¡°Why¨C¡± she uttered. ¡°Why not ally? Am I the only one who sees the obvious? I¡¯m a singer of the old ways, we can combine our tal¨C¡±


    ¡°Thyra?¡± Buron grabbed her shoulder, letting go of his crossbow. The bald veteran stared at her, as did Torm. He knew that Breg and Zaber were lost and that he had to step in. ¡°We can¡¯t trust strange snailmen in the mountains. They¡¯ll only stand in our way or betray us.¡±


    ¡°I offer you Thirty-Seventy of their coffre de guerre,¡± said Franque and lowered his mace. Out of nowhere, he walked towards Zaber, showing no threat. Until they were nose-to-nose, with a big smile and terrible breath.


    ¡°War che¨C¡±


    ¡°I know that one.¡± Zaber did cut his apprentice short, and everyone fell silent. The two leaders radiated an unsettling calm at each other. Until Zaber¡¯s smile returned. ¡°You can have it all. We¡¯re out for the prisoners.¡±


    ¡°Does she speak the truth?¡± asked Franque, tilting his head past Zaber and pointing at Thyra with his chin. ¡°She¡¯s a sorci¨¨re?¡±


    ¡°Did your scouts report on the beaten line magician?¡± Zaber turned around, showing his back towards the armored warrior. ¡°That was her ma.¡±


    The highwayman let his eyes wander around his potential allies, beginning and ending on the rugged woman. Some of his men became nervous, but not as much as Thyra. The cackling fire in the background, smoke was spread by a strong gust of wind.


    ¡°Allons-y!¡± Another round of Franque¡¯s infectious laughter rang up, followed by a smack against Zaber¡¯s upper arm. ¡°Our camp is up there,¡± he pointed at the peaks, southwards, behind the trees. ¡°I am curieux to learn how you were to kill yourself. C¨¦l¨¦brons our alliance, combiner plans!¡±


    The greasy and unkempt man did not offer any kind gesture back ¨C no shaking of hands or anything. He saw Buron smiling and shaking his head, where Breg only sighed and made his knuckles crack.


    Torm looked relieved, and Thyra had died a thousand deaths and was revived. This was too much for her ¨C and too soon. She and the boy chuckled at each other for a moment. This was nothing new for Torm, and he was glad that his mentor was still there when it counted. It gave the apprentice a glimpse of hope that life would return to normal once they were done. Like back in Teblen.


    Everyone saddled up and Zaber shrugged at his companions indifferently. ¡°If we lose these bastards, they ain¡¯t haunting me,¡± he said uncouth.


    Breg nodded. ¡°Aux¡¯ troops to burn.¡±

 Chapter 30 - Day Fourteen

    Chapter 30


    Day Fourteen ¨C Afternoon


    Franque and his men were terrible guides, thought Thyra. Not just because they spoke a different language, but because they barely bothered to explain themselves. Thinking even deeper about it, her other companions had also been quite terrible at telling her why they did what they did. Only Buron cared about everyone knowing where to go ¨C sometimes. But the three veterans had a way of talking to each other without words. The hand signs were easy to read and learn after a short amount of time. But when they looked at each other, nodding knowingly, the rugged woman had no choice but to follow them in blind trust. Torm didn¡¯t look like he knew either, he simply was more adept at playing along. And his trust in Zaber was unshakable.


    These brigands were so used to navigating the mountains that nobody communicated at all. Everything happened at once, nobody spoke, then they were joking and laughing again. The couple of bald and tall didn¡¯t leave each other¡¯s side for the whole journey. They exchanged pointed nods and gazed at prominent landmarks. Which included a thin stream through a depression. This seemed to be their target destination. It may have taken two candles or more, tracking faded trails between rocks and pastures. Wide open, yet hidden in the shadows of the peaks.


    Between two summits, thousands of feet above the King¡¯s Road, the newfound alliance came to a halt. The little creek was thin enough to jump it, springing from a close-by rock formation even further up. Between a couple boulders sat a single shabby hay barn. Folks might have had cattle graze here.


    ¡°Nous y sommes!¡± yelled Franque. Neither he nor his men seemed out of breath, but black muck was running down his forehead. Only Thyra was panting and drenched. Maybe Torm¡­ a little.


    ¡°He says we¡¯re here,¡± translated the boy while the band of outlaws spread through their camp. They moved some stones, revealing a couple of hidden stashes that were dug up. Franque walked towards an old fireplace. He wiped the muck off his face and dipped his fingers into the black as to refresh the jet black of his hair.


    ¡°Got these peppered throughout the mountains?¡± Zaber was right behind the man with the pockmarks.


    ¡°Ouais,¡± Franque smiled, wiping his hands on his belly. ¡°Some here, some on the other side of the border. Haven¡¯t you seen the primes on our heads?¡±


    The greasy and unkempt man looked for his protege. They had led their horses on foot, and Torm was helping Thyra unpack. ¡°Boy,¡± he said. ¡°What¡¯s a primmes?¡±


    ¡°Primes,¡± corrected Torm, slightly off dialect. ¡°Bounty.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a fuck about those,¡± said Zaber dryly. ¡°Let¡¯s get straight to it. Tell me your damned plan.¡±


    ¡°They were at Glonn¡¯s,¡± yelled Buron over. ¡°Enough to get by for quite some time.¡±


    An infectious laughter rose with Franque himself, until he stood right in front of Zaber. It made Thyra nervous how much these two brutes gravitated towards each other. She couldn¡¯t explain what or why, but the sparks between them were undeniable. The rugged woman had gotten used to how tense their leader was, but his posture was different now. Franque waved his arms through the air and came close to a push, or hug¡­ or dance?


    ¡°Tu vois, I am a well known menace around here. Impossible to catch, because the porc noble are too b¨¦te.¡± The highwayman¡¯s voice went up and down in a self-assured sing-song as he walked uphill. ¡°You are very wise t¡¯allier with me and my compagnons.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± said Zaber, smiled and shook his head. ¡°¡¯aight, can we get down to business now?¡±


    ¡°Ouais, ouais, but there is one more thing,¡± said Franque when they reached a height from where the whole brigands camp was in view. He turned around, making his mantle-like gambeson swoosh in the wind. ¡°Let¡¯s celebrate our glorieuse alliance! There is only one rule that any man has to obliger by¨C¡± The brigand¡¯s leader pulled out his mercy knife and sat down on one of the two boulders. Throning above the depression. ¡°No touching my beautiful s?ur!¡± He rammed the blade into the ground between his legs. ¡°Or I¡¯ll have your couilles.¡±


    Just when the sentence was finished, the man-at-arms pulled off his frog-mouthed helmet. Sweaty, back-braided, black hair was revealed, worn by a tanned woman at the end of her twenties. Her face was as acute as her brother¡¯s, but without pockmarks. Her eyes were keen and a sharp scar split the brow above her left eye.


    Torm and Thyra only now realized that she had moved the entire distance in full armor. Something that had the boy wheeze in just a hauberk and skull cap a couple of days ago. And the sewers were at best a third of the distance of today.


    The three veterans¡¯ eyebrows raised in unison. Zaber shrugged it off after the first impression. Buron and Breg looked at each other in discomfort. Though the one most fixated on the woman-at-arms was Torm.


    ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡± asked Thyra, pulling the boy¡¯s arm. ¡°Something wrong with her?¡±


    Thyra also struggled to not stare at Franque¡¯s sister. While the dented pauldrons were removed from her, the armored woman caught their gazes and returned it. Sharp, as if she was asking a provocative question. The boy and the rugged women shook their heads and turned away, continuing to unsaddle the horses.


    ¡°N¨C, no¨C¡± uttered Torm. ¡°Nothing. This is, uhm¨C¡± He avoided any eye contact. ¡°Like a mythical beast. Not only rare, but dangerously¨C¡±


    ¡°A Gh¨®stis,¡± said Thyra. ¡°But she¡¯s just like Queen ¨¢laine from the Geolan Tales of¨C¡±


    ¡°Damned no, she¡¯s not,¡± interrupted Torm as well. ¡°I¡¯ve seen a handful of women fight, and only one looked as dangerous.¡± The boy glimpsed at the unreasonably tall man and his bald companion who unloaded their weapons and armor. ¡°And none wore armor like that. Or walked straight up a mountain. I expected a beast like Breg, not¡­ this.¡±


    Zaber and Franque built some make-shift maps from stones and drew in the dirt with sticks. Their arguments were damp and far away. Meanwhile, the brigands were talking in foreign tongues. They helped their armored companion out of her armor. As Father Sun was about to pass his reign on to his daughters, the bandits spread throughout the camp. Some dug up dirty bottles, sealed crates and small barrels, while others made a big fire.


    When everything was done and their belongings spread around some stones to sit on, Thyra looked at Buron and Breg. They sat a couple of feet apart from each other and avoided all contact and only spoke very formal. ¡°Are they alright?¡± asked the rugged woman and looked back and forth between the pair and Torm.


    ¡°Psht,¡± hissed Torm and walked closer towards the scrawny and colossal veteran. He made sure that Thyra would follow him. ¡°Don¡¯t say a word. What they do is a sin, a blight under the Stars. Others wouldn¡¯t understand,¡± whispered the boy.


    ¡°Hum,¡± squeaked Thyra, frowning. She seated herself next to her companions on a boulder with a blanket on it. ¡°Aren¡¯t we all criminals here? Isn¡¯t there some¨C¡± She halted. ¡°Some honor among thieves or so?¡±


    ¡°Fuck that,¡± said Buron, his eyes glued to the strangers around them. ¡°Nobody here has any honor.¡± He pulled out a piece of dry bread and chewed on it.


    ¡°Why?¡± asked Thyra, bending down to her belongings and pulling out a waterskin. ¡°Our goal is a noble¨C¡±


    ¡°Honor ain¡¯t real,¡± said Breg and straightened his beard after looking at Thyra. ¡°If Zaber hadn¡¯t agreed, we would¡¯ve killed each other. And none would have slept worse for it.¡±


    ¡°Scusi.¡± One of the men had walked up on them and made himself heard from a distance.


    Breg had stared at him for a while before his gaze was avoided, but went right back when the man spoke up. The brigand had his black hair greased back, a sly yet inviting grin on his thin-bearded face. Torm caught the iron ring that pierced the man¡¯s ear, recognizing it¡­ but this fella was quite older.


    ¡°I am Ludolfus, but please call me Ludi,¡± said the man in a high-pitched voice. He spoke fluently, but with some heavy High Gal¨¢zian accent. Two thin scars ran around his mouth towards his cheek and chin. He wiped his hands on his trousers made from thick hides. The open jerkin he wore was made from the same animal. ¡°We want to celebrate our new friendship.¡± His hand dangled in front of Buron and Breg to shake.


    ¡°Hrm,¡± grunted Buron. Looking up and down the shabbily tanned bandit, he waited for Breg to signal him an ¡®alright¡¯. The unreasonably tall man¡¯s eyes pointed at the five-finger sword sheathed along Ludi¡¯s lower back. There were smaller blades in his boots and belt. The bald veteran rubbed his bad knee before reaching for the hand. ¡°I¡¯m Buron and this is Breg. What¡¯s you folks¡¯ idea of a party?¡±


    Breg¡¯s eyes wandered around the camp, seeing hard smoked meat, biscuits and dirty bottles pop up from the ground. Three highwaymen brought forth flutes and whistles of different sizes and styles. The armored woman stripped down to a fencing doublet and puff breeches. A sash held all of it together.


    ¡°What kind of bandits are you?¡± asked the unreasonably tall man in disdain. His eyes were locked on the lean woman with the broad shoulders who wielded an oversized sword with ease. A bear knew that he only had to look out for a predator of his own size.


    ¡°Half of us were traveling performers,¡± replied Ludi and pulled out one of his knives. He threw it high above, giving it a fast spin, just to snap it out of the air without cutting himself. ¡°Played at minor noble¡¯s courts, stole what we could get our hands on and ran north. But like that, you run out of folk to steal from molto rapido.¡±


    ¡°Wow!¡± Thyra¡¯s face brightened up. ¡°Do you have acrobats among you?¡±


    ¡°Any of you fought for Taron of Mont Bank or Arnus the Florentine?¡± Buron ignored Thyra, and Breg kept watch on the hoodlums and Zaber up the hill.


    ¡°Si,¡± nodded Ludi, casually cleaning his fingernails with the knife from before. ¡°Arnus il Flumio was our last master. Before that, we were paid by Colonello Taron. You¡¯ve heard about their¡­ particular reputazione?¡± A smile spread over his face and he winked at Buron.


    ¡°A¨C¡± Thyra raised her hand to gain everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°Acrobats? Yes or no?¡±


    A throaty laughter rang from behind them and the bandit that Torm and Zaber had met in the woods stepped closer. ¡°Adesco, Velino and Piavi are musicisti. My brother here¨C¡± The bandit slapped Ludi on the back. ¡°Is a renowned sword-eater. We have a spettacolare knife throwing and juggling show!¡±


    ¡°This is Asti, my fratellino¨C¡± The slick bandit thought with his fingers for a moment. ¡°Younger brother,¡± he corrected himself. ¡°He breathes and eats fire. None of us is particularly acrobatico, but¨C¡± The older one glimpsed at the athletic woman with the sharp eyes. ¡°You could ask Nancia if you want. But she and our grunts never served under Don Arnus or Taron.¡±


    ¡°How did you guess?¡± asked Asti and squeezed himself between Torm and Thyra. ¡°Did we meet in war and forgot?¡± He smirked.


    Torm did not budge, broadening himself next to the bandit with the frizzy hair. ¡°They served under General Airich,¡± said the boy with an equally smug smile. ¡°Zaber was his orderl¨C¡±


    ¡°You¨C¡± uttered Breg. He burst onto his feet, only stopped by Buron¡¯s arms to not grab his friend¡¯s ward at the neck.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± said the scrawny man, wrapping his arms around the pumping chest of the unreasonably tall man. Everybody could see that Breg could shrug off anybody if he wanted to. It was because of Buron¡¯s intervention and nothing else that Torm didn¡¯t get his face remodeled. ¡°Boy,¡± grunted Buron, shaking his head at Torm. ¡°It¡¯s not your place to tell anybody. We say it, or it¡¯s not to be said.¡±


    ¡°Dalle stelle,¡± gasped Ludi, backing away from the beast that was Breg. ¡°That true? You were his little child marauders or what?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Buron reluctantly and forced himself to smile. ¡°Time to celebrate. We¡¯re not fighting, Breg. Wait for the battle.¡± He let his friend go, running his fingers over the giant¡¯s chest in the blink of an eye.


    ¡°Understood.¡± Breg nodded. ¡°Who¡¯s up for some arm wrestling?¡± His words were slow and threatening. He stared at every man around him except for his scrawny companion.


    Ludi and Asti looked at each other confused, until the older one replied a, ¡°Perfetto,¡± and shrugged it off. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to get my arm ripped clean off. Let¡¯s find a graveyard for it.¡±


    ¡°You too,¡± said Breg and looked down on Torm. ¡°Boy.¡±


    Torm gulped and his eyes widened like that of a prey animal. His first instinct was to correct him, like he would with Zaber, and inform him of his disdain for the word. But on a deeper thought¡­ maybe letting it slide one time was fine. ¡°Up we go,¡± said the boy. ¡°Let¡¯s show them our strength.¡±


    Towering over everyone, Breg straightened his beard and waited for the older brother to go ahead. The moment Torm stood up, Asti moved into his space to sit properly next to Thyra. Both her book buddy and her drinking buddy sent her inquiring gazes while they followed behind Breg. But all she did was grin at them.


    ¡°If something happens, call for us,¡± said Buron. ¡°Loud.¡± He saw a make-shift table made from a small barrel, sighed and wiped the sweat off his neck. ¡°And don¡¯t join us. I gotta keep an eye on him before anyone gets too hurt to fight.¡±


    ¡°Trust me, testona pelata,¡± interjected Asti before Thyra could answer. Instead, she just nodded along with the bandit¡¯s words, while leaning back on the rock they sat on. ¡°Nothing¡¯s gonna happen.¡±


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    ¡°So,¡± said Thyra after a while. ¡°You and your brother are jugglers?¡±


    ¡°We are,¡± said Asti, laying his arm around Thyra¡¯s shoulder. His wild black curls touched her rugged brown hair, held together by a bone barrette. ¡°We¡¯re also fierce warriors, fiore.¡± He winked.


    ¡°Fiore?¡± asked Thyra. A befuddled glimpse touched on Asti¡¯s scarred hand and upper arm before she moved away. She didn¡¯t like speaking side-by-side and wanted to look into the bandit¡¯s face. He may have been a little younger than her. ¡°Excuse me, I just speak High Albinian and Midlandish.¡± Her eyes were as curious as ever. New ¨C friendly ¨C folk to learn about, unlike her first impression of¡­


    ¡°Boh, I noticed your sophisticated way of speaking. Unlike your brutale companions.¡± Asti leaned towards Thyra again, but struggled to find a good angle. ¡°It means flower.¡±


    ¡°Aww, how nice,¡± said Thyra and her mezzo brightened up. ¡°But calling them brutal is uncalled for. They¨C¡± She halted, biting her lips. ¡°No,¡± she continued. ¡°No, you¡¯re right. Breg and Zaber are without a doubt that. But Torm and Buron aren¡¯t. At least, not really?¡± Musing over her own words, she looked around the camp to spot her¡­ friends? Companions? Fellows? ¡°Torm speaks very refined too; the young one. And Buron is pretty level-headed and keeps them together. Now that I think about it, none of their dialects seem to be the same,¡± she chattered away, turning her head back towards the bandit. ¡°I don¡¯t know where Zaber, or Buron are from, but Breg sometimes sounds like he¡¯s not even from Albion. And Torm¡¯s from Faenland. But he tries really hard to sound like Zaber, who sometimes pronounces words like my mother¨C¡±


    ¡°Your mother?¡± interrupted Asti, smoothening his voice. ¡°Is she as beautiful as you are?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to not speak about her,¡± replied Thyra with a coy smile. ¡°Now that I¡¯m thinking about it, nobody we met on the road spoke like any of my¨C¡± She paused before she sighed with meaning. ¡°Brothers in arms. Not even the folk back in the tavern.¡±


    ¡°Why no talk about your mother? Was she a bad woman?¡± The young bandit leaned forward again. But Thyra straightened her posture to take a deep breath, stopping him.


    ¡°Please respect my wish.¡± The rugged woman held both her hands in front of her, as if she pushed away that conversation. ¡°She was wonderful and I am not in the mood to feel sad. I understand your curiosity, but let¡¯s talk about something fun instead,¡± she said and crossed her arms in front of her chest. These were all signs that had worked back in the swamp, when mother and daughter set their boundaries. This is how Thyra was taught and both of them honored each other. There was always another day to talk and after two decades they knew how to trust the other one¡¯s emotional pacing.


    Asti looked utterly confused. He ran his hand over his face and grabbed some of his own hair while uttering many unfinished words. He looked somewhat frustrated and Thyra couldn¡¯t make out any of what he was saying. Putting his thin bearded chin on one hand, he tried to collect himself.


    ¡°What flower?¡± asked Thyra, smiling invitingly. ¡°And¨C¡± She stuttered a little embarrassed. ¡°May I ask your name again? Your brother is Ludolfes, right?¡±


    An eyebrow rose and Asti returned the smile. ¡°Uhm¨C¡± He thought a bit. ¡°Maybe a rosa?¡± he said. ¡°My brother is Ludolfus and I am Astodeo. But please¨C¡± He put his hand on Thyra¡¯s knee. ¡°Call me Asti.¡±


    ¡°Will do,¡± said the rugged woman, wiggling her legs and arms, shaking off Asti¡¯s hand. ¡°I¡¯ve not seen a rose yet, only in illustrations or heraldry. So, I¡¯ll have to see how much I like them when I see a real one.¡±


    ¡°Girl.¡± The bandit shook his head in disbelief. ¡°Just take the complimento. Roses are pretty, believe me.¡±


    ¡°Aww again!¡± Thyra folded her hands. ¡°How very nice of you. You bunch seem more relaxed than my current companions. Do you often celebrate like this?¡±


    Right after these words left the rugged woman¡¯s mouth, Asti was leaning forward once again. His hands rested on her shoulders, pulling her towards himself. But his grip was resisted, as Thyra¡¯s hands became a barrier between them. Her expression was overwhelmed and confused by his odd lip movements.


    ¡°Ho¨C¡± gasped Thyra. ¡°Hoooh. Hold on, wha¨C¡±


    ¡°Eh, dai!¡± exclaimed Asti. He was about to push forward, through Thyra¡¯s arms, but a hand pressed onto his shoulder from behind. Following the rugged woman¡¯s gaze, he turned his head. ¡°Who¨C¡±


    ¡°In piedi,¡± ordered Nancia with a bad accent, as she spoke Asti¡¯s dialect to him. ¡°Vai a sputare fuoco. Rapido.¡±


    The bandit gulped audibly. ¡°Io¨C¡± he stuttered. ¡°Let me get some oilo,¡± he said and stood up. He locked eyes with Thyra, bowing his head, and stepped away without another sound. His shoulders hung defeated.


    The animosities around the camp had settled and the different kinds of outlaws found common grounds. Torm opened another table for arm-wrestling and, unsurprisingly, found more opponents than Breg. The unreasonably tall man¡¯s first and only victim was still holding his wrist. The older of the two brothers, Ludi, was showing his skills with the blades. He juggled them without effort and threw them into a wooden plank. After a pecking order of strength had been established, Breg, Buron and Torm tried to outdo the brigands at throwing knives. To the rank and file though, throwing small blades didn¡¯t matter. Only the boy showed himself somewhat competent.


    Even after Father Sun had passed, Zaber and Franque were still talking. Still somewhat in shock, Thyra let her eyes wander. All her companions, except Breg, had somewhat calmed down. The most unbelievable thing was that the greasy and unkempt man laughed with his counterpart. The rugged woman did not understand why Asti had tried that. He was so nice before, and now he looked like nothing happened ¨C sipping on the oil and spitting it into the campfire. Breg was the only one who shared her discomfort, it seemed¡­ and he was right back in the Arrow Inn too, Thyra thought.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± said Thyra after a deep breath. The muscular woman had sat down next to her, wordless. ¡°This isn¡¯t how I¨C¡±


    ¡°I likes you skirt,¡± said Nancia in broken Albinian. ¡°You made self? Want help me pretty dress?¡±


    ¡°Uh¨C¡± The rugged woman hesitated, but the sweaty woman next to her had already stood up. She grabbed Thyra''s hand and pulled her on her feet like she weighed nothing. The men sang a Gal¨¢zian song. Asti had not looked at her once, chugging once more from the oil and pulling a stick from the bonfire. Thyra shivered for a moment, before she looked at Nancia. ¡°Yes,¡± she nodded. ¡°Yes, I would love to. Got any spare ones? I had to leave a lot behind.¡±


    ¡°Spar?¡± asked the athletic woman. ¡°Sparare?¡± She mimicked the aim of a crossbow and sounded more like Asti and Ludi again.


    ¡°Clothes,¡± said Thyra, smiled, and ran her fingers over her own kirtle and the bodice of rabbit hide and old blankets. She also wore an undergarment that covered her shoulders and upper chest better. ¡°More? Other?¡± Thyra pulled on Nancia¡¯s fencing doublet.


    ¡°Euh, oui,¡± replied the tall woman. ¡°Follow.¡±


    The women walked to the small barn. It housed Nancia¡¯s and everyone else¡¯s armor, spare weapons, barrels of water and clothes. Everyone was doing what they liked most ¨C which happened to be what each of them was best at. Throwing knives, spitting fire, measuring strength, singing, drinking and being loud. Thyra had been really happy to run into genuine fun for the first time since she left the marshes. Since she left her mother behind. And this Asti arsehole had to ruin it. Kissing had been on her list, but not like this. She didn¡¯t know anyone here enough for that. And it felt¡­ forceful.


    ¡°Want too?¡± Nancia¡¯s voice intruded on the rugged woman¡¯s thoughts as they entered the hay barn. Scraps of fabric and hay covered the chests, crates and barrels. The only weapons and armor that was in the open was what the brigands wore before. And one chest contained neatly folded gowns and dresses in good condition ¨C for the circumstances. ¡°J¡¯ai plenty.¡± Nancia swept away splinters, dirt and dust with her hand.


    ¡°I would love to!¡± Thyra¡¯s voice skipped two octaves, as did her feet. ¡°Mother and I made patterns from illustrations, but never had the material,¡± she said, rummaging through the chest and fiddling with the fabrics. ¡°Do you have a Bliaut?¡±


    ¡°Un bliaud?¡± repeated Nancia in a softer voice. ¡°How age are you?¡± She laughed and grabbed an older gown.


    ¡°Me?¡± Little did Thyra know that what her illustration showed wasn¡¯t in fashion anymore. What was given to her was neither her height nor size. ¡°I¡¯m a Stag of twenty-four. You?¡±


    ¡°Je¨C¡± The athletic woman stopped, confused, and grabbed a piece more fitting for her new ally. ¡°I am une ourse twenty nine. But meant that you act like enfant. Bliaud is for old or tout-petit.¡±


    ¡°Excuse¨C¡± Thyra hesitated, stuttering a polite, ¡°I, I¨C¡± before finding her breath. ¡°I don¡¯t understand you.¡± Her speech had slowed down, as her eyes sped up. The rugged woman had spotted a long red gown with a high collar and giant trains of sleeves. A blue chemise and broad leather belt accompanied it, worn high above the hip. ¡°That one! May I try that one?¡±


    ¡°La houppelande? Tres bien.¡± Nancia nodded. It was a wide cut by design and the dragging parts were there no matter what. Their different proportions wouldn¡¯t matter in it. ¡°Want brush my hair?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Thryra explosively. ¡°Yes, yes, yes.¡±


    The rugged woman was about to melt as she was dressed by her new friend. She uttered ¡®yes¡¯ over and over while pressing the dress against her body. She looked down on herself, and rotated on her heels like Zaber taught her. After that, the two women sat down on blocks of hay and brushed each other out, laughed a lot and stood up again. The men outside were loud and joyous too. But the underlying belligerence was too much for what Thyra wanted, and needed, right now. Nancia was the first and only other woman that she had ever met, and she yearned for a mutual groom. Back in the marshes, Thyra and Tonna used to do each other¡¯s hair every day. More than once often, as they both had untameable thatches. They¡¯d also made each other¡¯s clothes when they had to be replaced. And every couple of years, her mother brought some good materials, or even full pieces, from her travels. If this wasn¡¯t so much fun, the rugged woman might have felt a sudden gloom. She missed her mother.


    ¡°I gotta admit,¡± said Thyra, still admiring her fancy dress. ¡°Seeing you under that helmet was quite a shock. Nobody expect¨C¡±


    ¡°No need d¡®expliquer,¡± interrupted Nancia, working herself through a difficult part of the wild woman¡¯s hair. ¡°I poss¨¨de plenty. Armure, armes, pretty robes. La vie short. Do what love, I say. All you love.¡±


    ¡°And you love robbing folks?¡± giggled Thyra.


    ¡°No,¡± replied Nancia quite serious. ¡°I love l¡¯¨¦p¨¦e. And looking pretty.¡± She smiled at herself, long black hair, brushed into waves. ¡°Et Franque, my brother bien-aim¨¦, promised we never pauvre again comme ?a.¡±


    The suddenly unrugged woman peeked over her shoulder at Nancia. A glum yet honest smile formed. ¡°That sounds nice,¡± she said. ¡°He seems to take good care of you all.¡±


    ¡°Quoi?!¡± Nancia laughed. ¡°I take care him! But what you? You love robbing?¡±


    ¡°What? No¨C¡± Thyra faltered, holding her breath. ¡°Not at all! We are not robbers.¡± She flailed her hands around. ¡°At least¡­ not me? Zaber and the rest are¨C¡± She sighed, struggling for words. ¡°They¡¯re uncouth, but good folks; out to save a friend. I just¨C¡±


    ¡°No expliquer,¡± interrupted Nancia once more. ¡°We femmes do what we need.¡± The muscular woman put the bone barrette back into Thyra¡¯s hair. ¡°They treat well? I can kill if you need.¡± She laughed to ease the situation, but provoked the opposite reaction.


    ¡°Th¨C, thanks,¡± uttered Thyra. ¡°But I don¡¯t think you can kill Breg or Z¨C¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    The coldness with which Nancia delivered her interjection drove a chill into Thyra¡¯s bones. For a brief moment she forgot where she was ¨C speaking to one of them. No matter how good a time she had right now, how wonderful this distraction was. Nancia was one of them. Forged on the road, hardened by real life. And the more the sheltered young woman learned about this real life, the more she thought that her mother might have been right. From the moment she left her mother; and her mother left her.


    ¡°Venez ici! Vieni qui!¡± Franque¡¯s voice rang from outside and broke through the women¡¯s conversation. With the grit of a carnival barker, he yelled in two languages of which Thyra understood neither. But the melodic joy the highwayman carried with him was infectious nonetheless.


    ¡°What¡¯s he saying?¡± whispered Thyra as she and Nancia stepped outside. Everyone¡¯s eyes were focused on Franque, and Zaber who stood right next to him.


    ¡°Jappe about plan and who you compagnons are,¡± said Nancia curtly. ¡°You are magie?¡±


    ¡°Uhm¨C¡± Thyra held her hands in front of her chest, staring at the ground. And a flattered smirk formed. ¡°Sort of.¡±


    ¡°Marveilleuse,¡± proclaimed Nancia, smirking with a different undertone. ¡°If you become monstre like the two, this plan suicidaire might work.¡±


    Thyra skimmed around for Breg and Zaber, who looked as tense as ever. ¡°Why are you calling them monsters? And why should I want that?¡±


    ¡°Monstres smell other monstres,¡± said Nancia, crossing her arms filled with confidence. ¡°You not combattante. You learn or die. Les monstres survivent.¡±


    In a moment of distrait, Thyra¡¯s eyes were fixated on nothing. Lost in thought, back in that place. Her mother was no monster, no matter her neck or hands. Her lips trembled and she swallowed. She remembered her own desperate screams that reached nothing. Thyra saw what had happened to that line magician. And her mother had saved a child and had survived whatever was done to her. Maybe she was a monster in the past¡­ and maybe what the books said about witches like her and Thyra are true.


    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna¡­¡± uttered the rugged woman and shook her head afterwards. She looked up at Zaber, whose raspy voice followed that of Franque. Thyra noticed the small progress in it and smiled satisfied.


    ¡°Whatever Ratking here told his fellas¨C¡± yelled Zaber at his own companions, stepping down from their elevated position. ¡°We got a tight plan. As y¡¯all know, killing a line magician ain¡¯t easy. We gotta be swift; we gotta be clever. No room for them to even sing a single verse. Franque knows the perfect spot ¨C and we tripled our manpower,¡± said the greasy and unkempt man, stopping right next to Torm. He rested his hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder, checking on each of his troops with his eyes. ¡°We¡¯ll prepare with them tomorrow. One more day ¡®til the battle. I gave them my word, and y¡¯all know that I keep them. We don¡¯t know them; they don¡¯t know us.¡±


    All eyes were on Zaber, whose gaze wandered between their new allies, until it stopped on Asti. The bandit was just a couple of steps away, holding a torch, oil dripping from his chin. The tense veteran¡¯s fist shot forward, shifting into a solid stance to close the distance. Nobody knew what happened until it was too late and Asti fell flat on his face, rolling down the depression.


    ¡°I told you I would hurt you if you snitch on us,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod towards Breg, who stepped in front of Ludi to block his way. ¡°And I keep all my promises.¡±


    ¡°No fighting!¡± yelled Franque. ¡°Nessun combattimento!¡± He ran down and pulled on Zaber¡¯s shoulder, bringing them face-to-face. ¡°Maudit batard! Tell me something like this ¨¤ l''avance!¡±


    What happened next was the strangest thing Thyra had ever seen ¨C but she hadn¡¯t seen much yet. Everyone laughed and laughed and laughed. Even Asti stood up with a chuckle, wiping dirt, spit and oil off his face. Nancia, next to Thyra, chuckled as well, raising her split eyebrow. All of them were maniacs¡­


    ¡°See?¡± said Nancia. ¡°Monstres soient des monstres.¡±


    ¡°No¨C¡± muttered Thyra befuddled. ¡°I don¡¯t see it. I have no damned idea.¡± She snickered nervously and ran her hand over her face.


    ¡°Let join.¡± Nancia smirked and winked at the woman next to her. ¡°Show me your magia; canta for me.¡±

 Chapter 31 - Day Zero

    Chapter 31


    Day Zero ¨C Sunrise


    The cold of winter had settled in, as the Constellation of the Lion was coming to an end. The Day of the Dragon, followed by the Kraken¡¯s Grasp, was coming soon. Frost had clawed itself into the ground and covered the last remnants of moss, grass and flowers. The three regiments under General Airich¡¯s command had set up camp in the upmost northern parts of the Duchy of Brummon. About eighty miles south of the royal capital ¨C Kromladen ¨C in Nornberk. They had returned from the Second Yesilian War over a month ago. The three Kingdoms of Father Sun had signed a pact to defeat the heathens that threatened the civilized world.


    It was a perfect time to gain new recruits, as the Grand General was summoned by High King Theogreif II. Banners not under His Majesty¡¯s direct command were forbidden from entering the capital. And that is why Airich took as much time as he could on his march back. He planned to see the King on the Day of the Dragon. To be prepared.


    ¡°Line up!¡± yelled an old sergeant with a missing eye and gold teeth. ¡°Roll call! Means: you sorry bunch count upwards ¨C starting from my left.¡±


    The man was flanked by two younger soldiers ¨C one in his thirties, one barely in his teens. Both wore a fibula with a shield and sword that made them out to be corporals. The scrawny old soldier held a list with names, places of birth, and pay. He listened to them counting to ninety-seven.


    ¡°Welcome to the elite!¡± His grizzled voice boomed throughout the moor, close to the tents and wagons of the camp and its followers. He snorted loudly and spit on the ground. ¡°I¡¯m First Sergeant Brenz, and you have joined the men among men, the Honourable Airich of Belge¡¯s own Greenfeet Regiment. If you ain¡¯t filled with pride already, I promise you that you will after we¡¯re done with you sorry bunch,¡± said Brenz. He rolled up the paper and put it inside his half-open green gambeson that bore the banner¡¯s colors. ¡°Everyone of age sixteen or above will stay with me. Everyone under the age of ten will follow Corporal Grenn here,¡± he said, and the older soldier stepped out.


    The padded coif on his head could not hide a missing ear. Grenn looked tired and worn-out, with a beaten up face and slash marks on his padded jack. Whatever happened in the last two years had to be ruthless. Though most of the children weren¡¯t able to see these signs and focused only on the sturdy sword that hung from his hip, a falchion.


    ¡°Everyone between these ages follows this boy,¡± said Brenz. ¡°Corporal Zaber.¡±


    Both corporals got a slap on their shoulders before the fresh meat was divided. Zaber walked an uneven eighty feet over the wet cold pasture, with fifteen boys in tow. One of them might have been older than him, with most of them around the same age. Only a few hadn¡¯t reached manhood under the Stars.


    ¡°Halt!¡± ordered Zaber, a fist raised. His eyes twitched from left to right, counting and mustering the lot. ¡°Line up, oldest to my left, youngest to my right,¡± he said. Most were just looking at each other, confused. ¡°Figure it out!¡±


    The young recruits were talking to each other, walking up and down. When the oldest found his place at the top, he asked: ¡°Why should we take orders from you? You¡¯re our age.¡± He was built like a true farmhand, wiry, but not of unusual height. Clad in simple clothes and a bowl cut a mother or grandmother would make.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see soon enough,¡± replied Zaber and stepped in front of the oldest boy. ¡°But here¡¯s your first lesson.¡± The young corporal came nose to nose with the recruit. His stare radiated the tension of an old man, not only tired but sick of everything. Unbearable to stand for the older one. ¡°When in line, you shut the fuck up. You speak when I ask you to speak. Got it?¡± Zaber waited, but only a gulp returned to him. ¡°I asked: Got it?¡±


    ¡°Y¨C¡± stuttered the oldest boy. ¡°Y¨Cyessir.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t sir me. I ain¡¯t no squire.¡± Zaber turned on his heel and stepped in front of the lot. ¡°Eight years ago, I stood where they stood.¡± He pointed over at the field where the youngest group stood. ¡°I¡¯m the only one left of my batch. Everyone else got their payout or worse!¡± He yelled like the sergeant. ¡°I have one goal ¨C and only one! Y¡¯all are going to survive. Either run away, or toughen up!¡± With clenched fists and trembling shoulders, a cold wind accompanied the young corporal walking up and down. ¡°First: I gotta see what we¡¯re working with.¡±


    One by one, Zaber sized them up. He circled around them, grabbed their muscles, pushed them a little¡­ and most importantly, made eye contact. As the first boy was a peasant type, the next one had to be from a city. A pointy chin, with inquisitive eyes, working hands, but not a working body. The third in line though was something else and had demanded Zaber¡¯s attention from the very beginning. As tall as a grown man and built like a tree, he had an impressive patch of hair around his lips. Except for the three oldest, the rest were unimposing and mundane. The young corporal knew that he had to work rather hard on these peasant boys.


    ¡°Who has thrown proper hands before?¡± asked Zaber, returning to the front. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me. There¡¯s no shame in being a wimp. And I don¡¯t mean with your brothers or cousins for fun.¡± He raised a fist and looked at each and every one of them. ¡°I mean a real fight.¡±


    After all hands went up, half of them went down again. Two, three, six, nine and a hesitant twelfth. The lot¡¯s eyes were wandering left and right, curious like the kids they were. Except for that man-boy, whose eyes were piercing Zaber.


    ¡°¡¯aight, let¡¯s get to the good part,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Bragging.¡± His eyes pointed at the second in line. Wearing an artisanal but worn-out leather vest, the linen tunic and chausses beneath it didn¡¯t show much wealth. The city-boy let his hair grow out recently it seemed. ¡°Number Two; you first. Name, age, and what¡¯s your story?¡±


    ¡°Story?¡± asked the kid with the long pointy chin befuddled. ¡°Of what?¡±


    ¡°First throw-down, getting mugged or beaten by your pa,¡± replied Zaber, raising a fist. ¡°You raised your hand. What¡¯s it?¡±


    ¡°Uh¨C¡± The city-boy fought the urge to fiddle with his face. ¡°Fourteen; Asher. My father¡¯s a cobbler in Vellorn, Duchy of Baerya. Got two sisters with many grubby fingers around, including the master¡¯s sons,¡± said Asher, grabbing the fabric of his chausses. ¡°Now I¡¯m here and my father can open his own shop from the coin.¡±


    ¡°Punch me,¡± ordered Zaber without wasting any time. He jutted his chin forward as an invitation, to the befuddlement of most recruits. Nobody believed what they had just heard. The recruits mustered the young corporal, figuring out if they were being tested. Zaber¡¯s nose was recently broken and still healing, with neither his face nor hair washed. What really stood out though, was the empty stare on their fellow boy.


    ¡°I¨C¡± Asher thought about which words to choose. ¡°You are currently in charge of us, and I was told there is severe punishment for disobedience. Would this be considered such an offense?¡±


    ¡°Big words, wimp.¡± Zaber tapped his chin with his own knuckles. ¡°This is an order.¡±


    ¡°Well¨C¡± uttered Asher, stepped out of line and massaged his shoulder and upper arm with a smirk. ¡°Can¡¯t be insubordinate.¡± His fist connected with a quick ¡®thud¡¯, and Zaber weaved his body and face with it.


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    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said the young corporal, turning his head back. His fingers ran over his chin, as if he was feeling the punch. ¡°This ain¡¯t bad; good posture. I believe you, we can work with that.¡± There was no sign of pain or sympathy. Zaber¡¯s voice was dry and emotionless, but his mind was at ease. ¡°Next up: Big boy. Name, age, story.¡± The lot under his command grew nervous, looking at each other. They smelt that something was odd about their instructor. That this wasn¡¯t really about them¡­


    ¡°Breg; thirteen,¡± said the unusually tall boy in a thick eastern accent. ¡°Father¡¯s a blacksmith, I held weapons before woddling.¡± Before the order was spoken, the man-boy stepped forward with clenched fists.


    ¡°Damned, you look twenty,¡± said Zaber, sizing up the recruit. He wore a woolen cloak with a nice iron fibula, sturdy boots and a long garment beneath. All rags now, covered in specks of mud. ¡°What¡¯s that accent? And first and last beat-down.¡±


    ¡°First was my bastard brother, last was my bastard father.¡± Breg got straight to the point, his voice nearly cracked with anger. He wasn¡¯t trembling from the cold. ¡°Gvennish. Fled from the bastards.¡±


    ¡°Damned, a baltak,¡± said Zaber and set his jaw. ¡°How far is that? Five hundred miles?¡±


    ¡°Seven,¡± replied Breg and got into position, fist raised. ¡°Do I get to punch you now?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± A high pitched voice screamed across the field. A scrawny girl in a simple green dress and brown bodice pressed herself through the lined up boys. Her short brown curls were not well cut, and she looked like she had just fallen out of bed. ¡°Stop it, why are you even out here?¡± she yelled. ¡°Does the Sarge know about this? You¡¯ll get in trouble with the General if¨C¡±


    ¡°Shut it, Aume,¡± interrupted Zaber, without even looking at her. ¡°Get lost, there¡¯s no place for camp fo¨C¡±


    ¡°Have you lost your starforsaken mind?!¡± shrieked the girl, squeezed herself between Breg and Zaber, pushing the young corporal away with what little weight she had to offer. ¡°Look at this meathead,¡± she said, and swatted against the man-boy¡¯s arm. ¡°He¡¯ll punch you clean out, Airich¡¯ll be told and y¡¯all get punished.¡±


    The unusually tall boy glanced at Aume¡¯s hand and swatted her back. So hard, the girl grabbed her arm afterwards, but didn¡¯t say a word.


    ¡°Never do that again,¡± said Zaber, and he and Breg stared at each other. Until the young corporal turned his head at the girl again. ¡°And you: Fuck off,¡± ordered Zaber, showing a hint of emotion; anger. ¡°Old man gave me this and now he has to deal with it. I¡¯m in charge.¡± He pointed at the shield fibula that also bore a sword, his rank insignia.


    ¡°Zaber¨C¡± the girl choked up. ¡°You can¡¯t keep doing this. You avoid us ever since we marched back, you haven¡¯t spoken to anybody, and¨C¡± She paused as Zaber ignored her. ¡°He¡¯ll not come back from this. No one will¡­¡±


    A wave of silence swept through the recruits, as their young corporal¡¯s stare stopped connecting with that of Breg. It phased right through him into nothingness, and everyone saw how Zaber was gone for more than a moment. Aume spoke on, but only an unsettling, dreary noise rang in the young corporal¡¯s ears¡­ until his neck burned up.


    ¡°Corporal?¡± asked Asher. ¡°May I remove that woman for you?¡±


    Zaber shook his head and snapped at the recruits. ¡°If you touch her, I¡¯ll kill you.¡± He ran his hand over his face, twitching briefly when he touched his broken nose. ¡°And stop kissing my arse, city-boy.¡±


    The line closed again and everyone straightened out after hearing that threat. The only one who was still out of line was Breg, raising his fist. His expression still held a dark question.


    ¡°Change of plans,¡± replied Zaber, waving the man-boy back at the rest of the recruits. ¡°Everyone¡¯s telling me their names and age; then pair up. Y¡¯all are going to serve as rear-guard and marauders at first. I¡¯ll teach y¡¯all how to march, ride and what to expect behind enemy lines.¡± The unwashed and battered boy in charge felt the girl¡¯s eyes on his skin. Whenever he looked at Aume, he saw her mother and thought about Airich. And there was no time for this. ¡°Scouting, looting, burning crops and houses. I¡¯ll teach you how to become terror. I¡¯ll lead you, kids like us provoke less suspicion,¡± said Zaber, listing each point off his fingers. This batch¡¯s gonna make it, he thought¡­


    ¡°Stop ignoring me!¡± yelled Aume into Zaber¡¯s ear. ¡°You promised me¨C¡±


    ¡°One more word and I¡¯ll report you to the camp master,¡± uttered Zaber, still not looking at her.


    ¡°Never talk to me or the other girls again,¡± said Aume and spat Zaber in the face. ¡°You¡¯re dead to me.¡± Pulling up her skirt, she walked away, pressing herself through the line of boys. ¡°Dead, dead, dead,¡± she repeated, and turned around one more time. ¡°Dead I said! I¡¯ll have you poisoned if you dare come to me or my mother!¡±


    Zaber heard her voice, overflowing with spite, and her eyes, overflowing with tears. He inhaled once, before wiping away the spit that ran down his cheek and neck. All the recruits could see the torn skin on his knuckles and dried blood.


    ¡°You three show promise; might move up soon if you do well,¡± said Zaber. He pointed sidewards over the field where the adult recruits were drilled by Sergeant Brenz. ¡°I¡¯ll focus on y¡¯alls survival. Feisty peasants, guards, bandits or other marauders are what y¡¯all will encounter. Pair up. We¡¯ll start with wrestling and striking, go on daily marches and soon move to daggers.¡±


    It took some time before everyone found someone they thought was within their weight class. The oldest among them was Haune with fifteen. The next oldest behind Asher and Breg was a wiry boy of thirteen with dark blonde hair, stubbly like he was fresh out of prison. Four boys of age twelve ¨C Sall, Bode, Eyar and Garst. Followed by five aged eleven: Ertz, Urlf, Pyron, Treve and a boy who called himself Blacken by the color of his teeth. The two youngest were only ten, Dolf and Joyen. The latter wanted to be called by his mother¡¯s nickname for him: Snappy.


    ¡°Want to partner up?¡± asked the wiry boy with the stubbly hair, looking up at Breg. ¡°Only had one fight, but it was also with my drunkard of a father.¡± He smiled awkwardly and rubbed his head. But he got himself a nod as a reply.


    ¡°Big boy here¡¯s coming with me.¡± Zaber intruded their exchange. ¡°We an odd number and I need someone to show with. He¡¯ll just crush you anyways.¡±


    ¡°I learn best under pressure, fighting uphill,¡± said Asher, waiting patiently next to Zaber. He ignored the oldest boy, Haun, who had asked him out. ¡°Demonstrate with me. I want to get into formation as fast as I can.¡±


    The young corporal sighed annoyed, turning his head towards the city-boy. ¡°To get your arse murdered quicker?¡±


    ¡°Better pay,¡± replied Asher. ¡°More coin means better gear, means better chances of survival, means better pay.¡± He smirked like the worst kind of gobshite.


    ¡°¡¯¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber. ¡°Sweat today and you ain¡¯t bleeding tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Yessir!¡± Asher mimicked the salute he had seen from the career mercenaries over the last days.


    Before the city-boy could lower his hand, Zaber had wrapped his arm around his shoulder and threw him on the cold ground. With an ¡®oomph¡¯ and cough, all air left Asher¡¯s chest, while Zaber got into an upright position.


    ¡°First lesson: Most fights are won by the fella who strikes first,¡± stated the young corporal dryly. ¡°Y¡¯all will learn how to fall and throw today. Punching and kicking is easy and might not fell an enemy. Standing means winning.¡±

 Chapter 32 - Day Sixteen

    Chapter 32


    Day Sixteen ¨C Noon


    The Sun Maiden was a harsh mistress on this day. Sagir¡¯s lips were dry, his mind clouded, and his limbs feeble. Bread and water at sunrise and sundown were not enough to keep any prisoner alert or awake. When they spoke, they had to be cautious, as even talking too loud could result in punishment. There wasn¡¯t much to do except to close one¡¯s eyes and imagine a better place.


    Sagir swore that he had it the worst of the prisoners. The guards¡¯ hands were looser with him, and his fellow inmates jabbed and spat at him countless times. But the weaker all of them got, and the more they were subjected to the villagers they rested among, the more faded his peers¡¯ animosity. A couple peasants even tried to take justice into their own hands at night, and had to be stopped by their wardens. In their shared misery, word spread about Sagir¡¯s plan ¨C their last hope. What to do, when it might happen, and if there was even a chance. Everyone was on board, prepared for the worst¡­


    ¡°Hooold!¡± yelled a cavalryman from the front. Sagir couldn¡¯t see what happened, as he was sitting in the second wagon. ¡°A man is blocking the road uphill!¡±


    The King¡¯s Road had followed a fertile river valley through the mountain range for quite a while. But the transport had to change course, as further down the King¡¯s Road would lead into the capital of the Archduchy of Elbmarch ¨C Uchern. The officers had discussed the route, and that they expected to reach the Duke¡¯s paved road in less than a day. They had to push through a mountain pass right in front of them now, maybe a mile long. Surrounded by beeches and spruce, the peaks were snowy or pure rock at this height. About seven hundred feet of steep hill lay right ahead of them. There was a small temple around this area, to rest the horses and take a break.


    But who was this man? Zaber and Torm hadn¡¯t shown up in days after pestering the Captain and his Lieutenant. Sagir tried to listen. Were their preparations over? Was this the moment? The inmates were running out of strength and time and many doubted that the metal man would return. But Sagir knew better. No. Never. He promised¡­


    ¡°Salutations!¡± rang a scratchy voice down onto them. ¡°Hand over your tr¨¦sor and nobody will be hurt!¡± His dialect was unfamiliar, as were the echoes of his infectious laughter.


    ¡°My Captain, this ought to be the Gal¨¢zian bandit we were told about,¡± reported a soldier, while shielding his sight from the sun at the highwayman¡¯s back. ¡°I¨C¡± The man squinted incredulously. ¡°I am not sure, but¨C, but he might be dancing.¡±


    ¡°Watch the tree lines,¡± commanded Beotold. He pulled the reins of his horse, rotating all around, and grabbing his helmet. ¡°He¡¯s certainly not alone. Cornet Genhard, defend the horses and coacher.¡± The knight put his sallet on, visor open to block the sunlight. His men followed and armed up. ¡°Je vous conseille de d¨¦poser les armes et d''ordonner ¨¤ votre main de sortir du bois, sinon aucun quartier ne vous sera accord¨¦!¡± ordered the cavalier baritone in an imperfect Albinian accent.


    ¡°Je m''en bats les couilles!¡± taunted Franque.


    As there was no pavement along this mountain pass, a mere wedge held the barricade behind Franque in place. Driven into the ground, connected to ropes, an abundance of logs and two barrels weighed down the hill. Franque was prepared for battle too. He wore his coat-like gambeson¡¯s buckles closed, hiding his belly a little better. A well oiled hauberk above it added protection. But he wore no helmet above his soot-dyed sleazy hair or beautiful pockmarks. Mismatched graves and plated vambraces were on top of his thick leather gloves and boots.


    ¡°Let it¨C¡± yelled Franque. He shuffled to the side of the barricade, and lifted his leg dramatically. ¡°Begin! Donc ?a commence! Cos¨¬ comincia!¡± His voice and laughter echoed through the valley, accompanied by the rumblings of a man-made avalanche. He had kicked away the wedge.


    The steeds and their riders were bred and conditioned to keep their composure. The soldier at the helm heard a familiar melody from behind. He knew he must retreat behind the coachman and Genhard, now. The patrician¡¯s feet were still unsteady and his arm rested in a sling. Too great was as the pain from his shattered collarbone. But he had to stand up, regain his posture and take a deep breath. No matter how hard the task, his lungs expanded and the burning sting intensified.


    ¡°Ego¨C¡± Genhard¡¯s sonorous tenor rose, as a horse sprinted past him. Captain Beotold swung himself down onto the road. The patrician fell silent. He knew his place.


    The speed of the barrels and lumber had forced the knight¡¯s hand. Shield and sword in hand, he pushed the former towards what was coming. His voice shifted into a deeper pitch, close to a bass as he chanted, ¡°Ego ton¨­!¡±


    Beotold of Ituna was like a wall ¨C a tall one, above this vile tactic. The scripture all over his armor and shield ignited like cinder. The verse became a wave of thunder that coated the nobleman¡¯s entire body ¨C exploding all around him.


    Not an inch was given to the avalanche, the sabatons around his feet proved steadfast. Chunks and splinters sprayed around the pathway and into the nearby woods. Stones and gravel from the barrel were flung around. The soldiers in their armor got hit and their horses hurt. But not a single piece touched Beotold, as the Arcanium dust cooled down and a steaming fog spread around him.


    ¡°You useless piece of¨C¡± cursed the Captain, back to his cavalier baritone and looked back. A barrage of crossbow bolts blasted into his men from the higher parts of one side¡¯s tree line. ¡°Cornet to the back, don¡¯t let them break through! Lieutenant, take the flank. No quarters for common thieves.¡±


    The Margrave¡¯s cavalrymen knew the routine and no bolt was able to pierce them. Their beasts, though, weren¡¯t as lucky and whinnies of pain filled the valley. When the cavalier baritone turned his gaze back to what lay ahead of them, he saw nothing. The man had disappeared.


    ¡°He fled into the woods,¡± reported Genhard, grinding his teeth as he came down the coachbox.


    ¡°Get your lazy arse down, and¨C¡± Beotold¡¯s head snapped around, attracted by more deathly cries of their horses. Romund led most of the soldiers on horseback, to bridge the distance to the trees. But the last two riders, forming the rear guard, were surprised by the brigand¡¯s next step. A shrieking howl made two men pop out of holes from the ground, covered with wooden boards and turf. Lightly armored in red and white gambesons, with mailled gloves and kettle helmets, they stabbed the horses in the belly with guisarmes. The hooks on their polearms were used to drag their enemies to the ground before they could react.


    ¡°Correre!¡± yelled both brigands in unison. The way they rolled out of the hip-high holes showed that this was not their first time. They laughed and screamed foreign words, none of the prisoners understood. Soon they disappeared into a different, and opposite, part of the tree line from where the crossbows were shot.


    ¡°Get them,¡± barked Romund, pointing after the highwaymen. His rear-guard was crushed under the weight of their horses. ¡°Don¡¯t let them regroup!¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t run or hide!¡± An infectious laughter echoed down the pathway when the first brigand reappeared at the same spot. ¡°Leave behind your tr¨¦sor and prisonniers!¡±


    With Beotold¡¯s open visor shielding his eyes, the sun was not much of a problem. Panting slightly, he tightened the grip on his sword. ¡°Protect the wagons with your life, guildsman,¡± he ordered, as he took a first step uphill. ¡°I¡¯ll deal with this insolent¨C¡±


    The soldiers had split up, with the majority following Romund where the volley came from. Even before the Captain was able to walk much, a heavy bass boomed a loud ¡°Move¨­ terram,¡± from the forest. A rumble followed on the last scale, trembling through the area.


    ¡°Cap¨C¡± coughed a soldier behind Beotold, demanding his attention. ¡°Captain!¡± Fire had erupted between the trees, and a soldier with a raspy voice, stepped out of the smoke. Like most of his comrades, he wore a simple sallet, with tinned legs and arms. A red coat of plates with a plackart protected the man¡¯s chest, maille peeking out between the gaps. He wore a private¡¯s fibula and the coat of arms of the Margrave. ¡°They¨C¡± muttered the man. ¡°They have a rogue mage.¡±


    ¡°They have what?!¡± Beotold halted, as the brigand ran back into the forest. Angered, his cavalier baritone skipped an octave, as he slowly turned around. ¡°Cornet¨C¡± His eyes pierced Genhard, who was fiddling around with his old bascinet. He desperately tried to fasten it one-handed. ¡°You told us that you killed that witch.¡±


    Fastening his helmet, the patrician choked on his own breath. ¡°I¨C, I did.¡±


    ¡°He did,¡± repeated the soldier. After stumbling a few steps, his posture straightened and his feet shifted into a stable stance. Right when he was in range to reach Captain Beotold and his open visor. ¡°Ignam voco!¡± yelled the man, drawing a longsword from an ornamented scabbard, well hidden on his hip. It was a raspy, light-weighted and rough baritone, rather high pitched.


    The voice missed its mark, but the sound of metal on metal made the knight stumble to the side. Beotold was no amateur himself, trained from birth by his father and cousin, for whom he squired. His reflexes took over quick enough, with only a scratch on his forehead before the edge hit his helmet.


    ¡°You miserable¨C¡± mumbled Beotold, shrugging the hit off. ¡°Small, peas¨C¡±


    ¡°I said: Ignam voco!¡± Holding the sword in two hands now, Zaber struck a powerful pose and attacked again. He didn¡¯t come to have a chat or duel. He came to kill.


    The knight got interrupted hard. A longsword slid down the side of his ornamented sallet. The blade nearly got stuck in his open visor before it hit his enlarged pauldron. Beotold¡¯s words got stuck in his mouth and mind and instincts took over. He swept his blade at Zaber to establish a distance and threat, while raising his shield. It seemed mechanical, drilled into him, but pragmatic.


    ¡°You¨C¡± said the captain, but was interrupted once more.


    The greasy and unkempt veteran shifted backwards after the sweep. He swung his longsword with the momentum of his last attack and footwork. If Beotold wanted space, Zaber would not give him any. He attacked the shorter sword, using his superior reach to close the distance, and pushed against the shield with the hilt of Airich¡¯s sword. The former mercenary kept only his main hand at the sword and punched Beotold with his left.


    The Captain stumbled backwards, feeling the tinned knuckles in his face. He tasted blood and an unfamiliar, foreign pain coursed through his perfect teeth. A crunch in his mouth and anger in his eyes, Beotold remembered what his father taught him: If you only defend, you are losing.


    ¡°LET ME SPEAK!¡± shouted the nobleman. He barely caught himself on his feet, but pushed his shield and sword against Zaber. A piece of shiny white canine flung against Zaber¡¯s armor, as the cavalier baritone rose. ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s!¡± A tremor went through his shield and the scripture around House Ituna¡¯s coat of arms glowed. Beotold¡¯s strength increased manifold and his assailant was flung away several feet, nearly losing the grip of his weapon.


    ¡°You had your chance; you almost got me,¡± said Beotold, breathing rhythmically. Both armored men changed into proper fighting stances. With bloodied lips and a dark grimace, the nobleman and the commoner stared each other down. The points of two blades, pointing at each other¡¯s faces, with only a shield between them. ¡°This is all you got. You truly are, just a peasant boy.¡±


    ¡°I hate your voice,¡± replied Zaber, his equally dark gaze flashing through the slits of his helmet. ¡°Just shut up and fight.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll learn to fear it,¡± said Beotold. ¡°We are two and you are¨C¡± He caught Genhard in the corner of his vision, crouching next to the coachman, behind the cart. ¡°Cornet¨C!¡± growled the knight.


    ¡°Ignam voco, I said!¡± Zaber took the initiative again. Thrusting forward a couple of times, he repeated the spell. His voice became more and more raspy and less and less harmonic with each attack. Beotold deflected the attacks, counter-thrusted, and parried. Soon enough, Zaber noticed that the arcanium in Airich¡¯s sword was crumbling out of it with each ¡®clank¡¯. ¡°Fuck it!¡±


    - - - - - - - - -


    ¡°Torm!¡± yelled Sagir. The convicts had noticed a rustling and rumbling. Another patch of grass lifted from the ground and two more figures appeared under a wooden plank. The young man donned a simple skullcap and Zaber¡¯s worn-out, short gambeson and a hauberk. Sagir didn¡¯t know who the rugged woman with the sweaty hair and oversized paddings was. But he would recognize his friend and what he wore everywhere. ¡°This is it!¡± He looked around his fellow prisoners. ¡°These are my friends! Now! Now!¡±


    The prisoners were exhausted, weak, and confused. Some had to be shaken or pushed by their neighbors; but it was now or never. They moved on their arses, shifting back-to-back to support each other. Sixteen men and three women, mustering all the strength they still had in them until the wooden cage creaked and broke. Stretching, pushing, yowling, everything they had.


    ¡°Warmaz at dagaz, still¨© in ta nahts,¡± sang Thyra in a wonderfully soothing mezzo. There was only a small hiccup when Torm rolled out of the hole, reached for her and pulled her out as well.


    ¡°I got you, keep singing,¡± said the boy. Thyra replied with a focused nod. ¡°Sagir, wha¨C¡± Torm drew the lange messer of his mentor and watched the prisoners push apart their prison. ¡°P¨C, Perfect!¡± Torm stumbled over his own words. ¡°Keep doing that. Zaber fucks with the captain, I¡¯ll¨C¡± Pulling out a large pair of pliers, he instead threw them to the side for later. Instead, he hacked away at the wooden bars that were close to breaking.


    The day had already been warm so Thyra¡¯s creeping increase of heatwent unnoticed. Breaking wood, a faint sizzle and crackle from the lit up woods, and the sound of fighting merged together. It was a chaotic mess to which Torm provided the beat of a drum.


    ¡°Fad¨¥r Sunn? hiz Wraitaz habaiti beun? bringan? upp ana,¡± continued Thyra, sword and buckler at her hip.


    ¡°Ego mitt¨­ lapis!¡±


    Thyra¡¯s melody came to an abrupt halt when a stone the size of a fist hit her right in the stomach. Ripped from the side of the road, the young woman had never felt the air pushed out of her like this. She couldn¡¯t even scream, sinking to her knees with an open mouth, struggling to breathe. Genhard had come around the wagon, ordered by his superior, bracing himself against the wood. His free hand reached upwards, supporting the motion of his spell. His face and posture showed just as much pain as Thyra felt.


    Snapping around, Torm¡¯s eyes were wide open. He looked back and forth between the two mages. ¡°Why the fuck isn¡¯t your spell disrupted?!¡± He rushed over to his companion, looking for wounds. There was no blood or bone visible.


    ¡°You nitwits,¡± said Genhard, keeping his tenor above the pain. ¡°Her Will still needs to win over mine! And that archaic gibberish will never accomplish that.¡±


    ¡°Skeut¨C¡± Thyra coughed, unable to hold a tone. ¡°¨Ctan?¡­¡±


    ¡°Keep going,¡± said Torm and patted Thyra on the back. She wasn¡¯t doing good, but she wasn¡¯t wounded. ¡°I¡¯ll deal with him.¡± As the prisoners continued their own liberation, Torm raised his mentor¡¯s blade. He got up and charged. The patrician winced in pain, and the apprentice¡¯s mind flooded with Zaber¡¯s teachings. Pressure above everything. Don¡¯t let him breathe.


    ¡°Ego lapis trah¨­,¡± sang the sonorous tenor. With the flick of his wrist, he pulled the same stone with which he had disabled Thyra. But the boy zigzagged the moment Genhard opened his mouth, moving around so that he could dodge the stone from hitting him in the back. Instead, it smashed into the cage, splintering all over the prisoners. The side of the cage burst open, hurling the wooden bars far away. Everyone was caught off guard. The patrician looked shocked, but the young man was hit by parts of the cage instead, tripping to the side. Only Thyra was still gasping for air.


    - - - - - - - - -


    To Zaber and Beotold, the commotion at the back of the transport was mere background noise. The veteran had said the words ¡°Ignam voco¡± again and again, growing frustrated with his own memory. Every time he pronounced it a little different and less like a verse.


    ¡°All this¨C¡± said Beotold in-between parries and ripostes. ¡°¨Cfor nothing but rumors!¡± He pushed Zaber away with his shield. Leaping backwards, the knight gained the distance he needed to speak without interruption. ¡°Time to teach you what General Airich missed out on,¡± he smirked, presenting his chipped tooth and his arming sword. ¡°Ignem voc¨­!¡±


    As the knight¡¯s blade was not inscribed with the letters for this spell, the heat and flames were entirely of his own making. His pitch shifted higher than usual, loud enough to be heard all over the battlefield. By sheer power of his voice, he produced a searing tongue of flames, forcing his Will onto the metal. His lowly foe was capable of parrying the sword. Not the blaze that seared through the veteran¡¯s helmet and bevor though.


    Zaber retreated backwards, shaking his head under painful grunts. He couldn¡¯t see, missing the attack at his legs and tripped. While the flames were extinguished by Nature prevailing over Magic, the greasy and unkempt man looked up at Beotold. The smell of burned hair and skin intruded his nose.


    Beotold couldn¡¯t see the damage done under Zaber¡¯s helmet, but his smile was self-assured. ¡°It has been a long time, peasant son,¡± said Beotold, stepping closer. His sword pointed at his foe¡¯s face. ¡°You have grown sloppy and forgetful. Not just of war, but of the natural order.¡± The knight raised his shield-hand at his head. His bloody grin disappeared behind the visor. ¡°Need another Lecture?¡±


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Laying on the ground, Zaber stared into nothingness. The Captain¡¯s words reached him, but blended into the sounds of battle, a sizzling voice that told him to kill, and orders to stand up. If anything, this veteran had not forgotten. Lying down means losing. Losing means dying. Thus he rolled back on the ground, bringing himself to his knees. He thrust forward aimlessly, hoping to pierce something of this arrogant son of a noble whore.


    ¡°Tone, pitch, volume,¡± listed Beotold, as he swatted away the attack. ¡°Ignem voc¨­!¡± The knight shifted his baritone closer to a bass. It was less fierce than before, so the flames spread out tamer instead of a searing tongue. Though, much, much louder.


    The sword strike itself was easy to parry, again, but the fire embraced Zaber¡¯s whole body. The sizzling of Brenz¡¯ voice and Beotold¡¯s flames became one. All sound was drowned out. Not his apprentice, Torm, nor his friends, Breg and Buron, were with him at this moment. Neither did he hear the heavy trample and rattle of maille closing in¡­


    ¡°How about another paysan, putain?!¡± Franque crashed feet-first into Beotold, catapulting the knight off the ground.


    The flames vanished as fast as they were summoned, sparing Zaber from more pain. The armor had absorbed much of the heat, enough to keep him from burning alive. On instinct alone, he pushed Airich¡¯s sword upwards, into the nobleman that was falling on top of him. Metal clashed, screeching over the inscribed cuirass of Beotold, deflecting the knight¡¯s body to the side. Not an amateur himself, the Captain of The Margrave¡¯s personal regiment¡¯s first lance lashed out at Zaber. He also hit nothing but armor, before smashing into the road face-first. He still half-mounted his lowly foe.


    All three men thought and acted as fast as they could. Zaber let go of the longsword and pushed Beotold off, getting on his knees and trying to mount the knight. His punches were not getting past Beotold¡¯s defense, but the nobleman let go of his sword as well. Both hands behind the shield, the Captain bridged his hip up and pushed Zaber away.


    For a moment, Beotold¡¯s voice was too constricted. For the first time in years, Zaber thanked the Stars ¨C for a good old ground battle and this magnificent bastard. He pulled out his stiletto and grabbed the shield to find a way behind it. To kill this man, as he was told.


    ¡°Non!¡± yelled Franque, up on his feet again, swinging his mace against Beotold¡¯s helmet. ¡°Pas de chant!¡±


    - - - - - - - - -


    Invigorated, the captives broke open the second cage. Their chains were still linked together with the metal bolts of their imprisonment. But now they could start tearing the entire thing apart. Wood splintered, ripped apart, pulled by their entire beings. With everything that was left inside of them.


    ¡°Help my friend,¡± pleaded Sagir. ¡°Attack the mage! Please!¡± He pointed at the patrician, but nobody listened.


    ¡°I¨C¡± Thyra tried to speak. Coughing and spitting onto the ground, fighting the urge to throw up. She grabbed the sword that Zaber gave her and pulled it out of its sheath, trying to straighten up. Her gaze and Genhard¡¯s met, as she tried to get the buckler off her belt.


    ¡°Oh no, you don¡¯t,¡± said the guildmage, and grabbed the air towards Thyra. ¡°Ego trah¨­ ferrum!¡± As he sang through the pain, he pulled his hand backwards and ripped the sword out the witch¡¯s weak hands.


    The blade flew through the air towards Genhard¡¯s open hand, hilt-first. His tormented face distorted even further when Torm raised his hand and snatched it out of the air. One roll and jump later, the boy flung the sword towards Genhard again, giving it a fast spin.


    ¡°Catch!¡± he yelled, as he brought himself and his own weapon into position.


    After the sound of metal on metal, a terrorized scream left the patrician¡¯s mouth. He grabbed his chest, at the armor, where the sword was repelled from, crouched over. His breath was fast. ¡°Fucking¨C¡± Genhard¡¯s body trembled, intensifying the pain. ¡°I am not¨C¡±


    The prisoners were still trying to get rid of the chains, yanking each other around in the process. Torm rushed the mage, sword raised. Sagir and Thyra were forced to watch, barely able to move as they wished.


    ¡°Eg¨C¡± stuttered Genhard. ¡°Ego¨C¡± He grunted, unable to produce the proper sounds. Only right before Torm was about to reach him did he get a hold of himself. His eyelids were pinched shut, as he reached for another stone. ¡°Ego lapis trah¨­!¡±


    His verses were less explosive as Torm remembered them, but the boy felt its effect soon enough. Narrowly above the ground, a couple of marble sized stones hit Torm into his ankles, legs and feet, bringing him flat to the ground. Dirt covered his face, and the skin of his cheek and chin was ripped open. He even lost the grip around his weapon.


    ¡°Please,¡± said Genhard, kicking the lange messer to the side. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna do battle with you.¡± He stepped backwards, and looked at Thyra and the prisoners. ¡°If you stay down, I¡¯ll let you live. But if you stand up¨C¡± He paused, pointed at Sagir, and pulled out his ornamented dagger with the scripture on it. ¡°I¡¯ll kill him; and only him.¡±


    ¡°What about them?¡± uttered Thyra, as she got up on her feet. Her breath was as unsteady as her eyes when she walked towards Genhard. Each step made her stomach ache. She felt powerless, but this murderer was too close to stop.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch her,¡± grunted Torm, wiping the soil off his face¡¯s wound. He tried to move, but the pain in his feet overwhelmed him.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± replied Genhard, holding his dagger in front of him. ¡°But if she comes closer, I¡¯ll kill your friend. You have seen me throw this. I don¡¯t care about you, or him, or her. I don¡¯t care about the King¡¯s damned quota.¡± He ripped open his visor with the other hand, twitching in pain from not bracing himself. ¡°I just want this to be over. The Captain is obsessed with that damned bum, his damned general, and his damned promotion. Please¨C¡±


    Surrounded by the sound of war, everyone fell silent. The prisoners realized that if the Yesilian could be killed that easily, they could be next. Sagir locked eyes with Torm and shook his head, mortified. He wanted to get home. He wanted to live.


    Genhard¡¯s eyes fixated on Thyra, and the tears that ran down her cheeks. She felt useless and angry. These folk deserved to live, none of them deserved to die. Nor did she, or Torm. Nor did¡­


    ¡°What about my mother?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m s¨C¡± Genhard swallowed his words. He bit his lip and pointed at Torm with a nod. ¡°Pick him up and leave.¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t stop,¡± said Torm, as he waited for Thyra. He picked up the lange messer before he got on his feet, blood dripping from his chin. ¡°Not before all of us are dead or Sagir¡¯s free. And if you or the knights kill him¨C¡± For the first time, Torm nailed the stare. ¡°We¡¯ll find you, Genhard Kyfer of Silver Street.¡±


    - - - - - - - - -


    Beotold of Ituna ¨C a house as old as the kingdom ¨C was pinned to the ground. Pummeled by a filthy bandit and the meaningless servant of a once great man. Anger boiled up, as the knight struggled to keep Zaber¡¯s hands from grabbing his helmet and sticking his blade down his gorge. His armor held up against these attacks, but he was hurt in a way utterly alien to him. This was beneath Beotold. He had worn heavy armor since his youth, played with swords and polearms and the bow. He had hunted his first animal to death at age seven. No matter how bad the position he was in, he was trained for this. Bred for this. Created for this.


    ¡°Ego ton¨­!¡± chanted the cavalier baritone. Clear, pure, and perfect as always. His lungs did not cave to the weight of his enemies on him. The enchanted steel of his whole armor reacted to the sounds and words. It vibrated and burned through the Arcanium ¨C the most valuable and potent of all elements. The magic reflected back from it, amplified, from his cuirass and produced a thundering boom that flung Zaber and Franque off.


    The burned veteran and his new ally were disoriented, unable to find their weapons. A tingling overshadowed every thought, with a thin rill of blood running from Franque¡¯s left ear. Neither of these two had danced this dance for the first time, and thus they got back on their knees.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done it,¡± sounded Beotold¡¯s baritone through the tingling. Right before Zaber was about to lay hand on Airich¡¯s sword, the knight stepped on it. The weight of steel and man pressed down on it. ¡°You¡¯ve brought the Emnity of the Stars upon yourself. You, common peasants, dared to challenge an Astral Warrior. Blessed with Celestial Tongue, chosen to bring order to you rabble.¡±


    As Beotold was citing Lectures, panting with a bad posture, Zaber tried to pull the sword from beneath his sabatons. ¡°Why can¡¯t you sh¨C¡± slurred the veteran, before his helmet was ripped open. His face was reddened from the fire, weeping wounds around his lips. Parts of his greasy hair and the stubble of dozens of days were charred off, soot darkening his eyes and cheeks.


    ¡°I want to see your face for what comes next,¡± said Beotold. He had lost the shield as well, and clenched his gauntlet in front of Zaber¡¯s eyes. The letters on it and the vambraces were different from his cuirass. Still filled mostly with amber dust. ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s!¡± sang the knight, switching to a deeper voice. Given abnormal strength, he punched into the jack of plates that protected Zaber¡¯s upper torso. The steel beneath the leather bent under the force. A ¡®crack¡¯ trembled through the former mercenary¡¯s body as he screamed. The punch was so hard, it even damaged the finger segments on Beotold¡¯s gauntlet. Smoke from burned Arcanium arose from them.


    ¡°Zaber!¡± yelled Torm, limping around the wagon, supported by Thyra. ¡°No!¡± They had heard the fight, but didn¡¯t expect to run into what they saw. Zaber¡¯s hand did not leave the hilt of Airich¡¯s sword as he gurgled in agony.


    ¡°You wait,¡± said Beotold, glimpsing at the two beaten arrivals. ¡°I¡¯ll not forget you.¡± He wrapped his tinned hand around the longsword that his lowly foe was holding and pushed him away with a foot. There was almost no resistance left, only flailing arms. The captain turned around and faced Franque, who was holding his ear, unable to find his mace right next to him. ¡°Your education hasn¡¯t been finished, peasant son.¡± Beotold ran his finger over the other side of the blade, inspecting the second spell. ¡°Invol¨±cr¨­ ign¨©,¡± he chanted rather faint, producing a dim coat of flames around the steel. As he raised the sword, ready to behead the bandit, a crossbow bolt splintered against the knight¡¯s helmet.


    With their arms drenched in blood, up to their elbows, Asti and Ludi charged forward with their guisarmes. There were more slashes on their padded jacks than before, with bruises and small cuts on their faces.


    Another bolt hit and Beotold¡¯s steed pranced before falling on it¡¯s side. Three more folk accompanied the brothers, unknown to anyone. The one in the front was an older man in a torn, dark linen tunic, with equally dyed chausses and wooden shoes. His bald head glistened in the sun, crowned by a gray circle of remaining hair. His face was like a grindstone, marred by the sun.


    ¡°Junior, keep back and reload,¡± ordered the man, built like an underfed ox. ¡°Bina, set the wagon on fire.¡± His children obeyed. The young man looked like he was his father¡¯s half-aged double. His crossbow was for hunting. The girl, at the brink of adulthood, carried a harvest sickle and torch with her. Their clothes were also dyed with black oak.


    Soon enough, the stubby oldtimer and his pitchfork joined the Asti and Ludi. They kept Beotold at bay, with the underfed ox not fitting into their two-man formation. Instead, he tried to drag Franque to safety. Everyone was exhausted, including the knight.


    ¡°What a pest,¡± said Beotold with a deepening baritone. The crossbowman was aiming at him and the girl held her torch at the carts. ¡°Enough is enough.¡± He took a big swing with the sword. ¡°Ignem¨C¡±


    Zaber wrapped his arms around Beotold from behind. Torm and Thyra chased after him, while he tore on the knight¡¯s helmet and tried to force his stiletto in. The fight repeated itself. Both the former corporal and the captain were plenty stubborn.


    ¡°Zaber!¡± yelled Thyra, anxious to touch them while they wrestled. ¡°We need to run! Stop it!¡±


    ¡°Take the¨C¡± Zaber¡¯s words were hard to hear between his grinding teeth. ¡°Take the sword!¡±


    ¡°What are you doing?!¡± Genhard¡¯s voice joined the chaos. He had to stay back and keep an eye on the prisoners. Positioned next to the road to see where Thyra and Torm were going. ¡°D¨¡ v¨¥l¨­cit¨¡tem!¡±


    Overcoming Beotold¡¯s Will and his Arcanium laced armor wasn¡¯t an easy task, but the knight felt the magic reach him. His foe¡¯s apprentice got his hands on the longsword, and the Captain allowed it to slip from his grasp. With what little of Genhard¡¯s spell was able to penetrate Beotold, the knight decided to use the rush of speed to overwhelm Zaber¡¯s hands and get a hold on his forearms.


    ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s,¡± sang the baritone, somewhat suppressed by what the former mercenary was trying. It was still enough to throw him over his shoulder. He burned through the remaining chunk of Arcanium in his vambraces. The metal around Zaber¡¯s own arms was dented by the grip, as he smashed into his allies¡¯ polearms. The brothers were able to retract them at the last moment, not stabbing the veteran by accident.


    The knight turned around, backfisting where he believed Torm to be. But the young man had already been dragged away by the rugged woman. They swerved around him, taking their distance, running towards the bandits. For a moment, Torm needed to be stopped from reaching for Zaber. The brothers would take care of him, retreating backwards into the woods.


    Watching his enemies flee, Beotold took two steps of pursuit before ceasing. He was drained, and turned his gaze at the girl that was trying to set fire to the transports. When he changed his target, she ran away as well, scared to the bones. For a moment, Beotold stood in silent rage. The Margrave¡¯s quota was more important. Chasing a meaningless orderly was not his priority. Even though¡­


    ¡°Cornet,¡± he uttered, the sound of war gone. ¡°You miserable disgrace of a¨C¡±


    ¡°Captain, I secured the prisoners,¡± said Genhard meek, watching over the captives. ¡°None was taken; nobody fled.¡±


    Throwing away his helmet, Beotold revealed his bloody lips and tooth to the patrician. His face was sweaty and he looked exhausted. A surge went through him though, carrying his feet swiftly over to Genhard. He punched him right in the jaw. There wasn¡¯t even enough time to flinch before the guildsman hit the ground.


    ¡°You have failed me,¡± said Beotold, spitting red. ¡°I will make sure your family is ruined before your return. You let him get away.¡±

 Chapter 33 - Day Sixteen

    Chapter 33


    Day Sixteen ¨C Noon


    There they were, a bunch of armored escorts and three officers under the scorching eye of Father Sun. Watched by the bulk of Franque¡¯s men, under the command of his sister. Among them were Buron and Breg, who the bandits thought impossible to veil. But the two were experienced foresters, a man¡¯s size did not matter to them.


    The veterans who served together under General Airich were all in forward positions from the battle line of crossbowmen, flanked by Nancia as their bodyguard. Zaber hid in the thicket a couple dozen yards down the hill, among salient trees. Buron and Breg lay in hiding behind thick trunks and similar shrubbery.


    And then it happened. Mumbled voices from afar, one undeniably Franque, the rumblings of a thunder and a howl. Bolts rained down on the soldiers and their horses, and the frog-mouthed woman gave the orders. Her flamberge was planted in the ground, ready for action. An infectious laughter roared around the valley, taunting foes and raising friends.


    ¡°Preparati! Prepare!¡± yelled Franque on a short visit to their position. He was already running to another spot, while continuing his commands. ¡°Preparati! Sparare, Sparare! Preparatevi per¨° al corpo a corpo!¡± He vanished as quickly as he appeared, returning to his main goal: Getting at Beotold¡¯s nerves.


    Unmounted cavalrymen, led by the lieutenant, entered the woods. Clad in coats of plates and brigandines with tinned legs and arms, they moved from tree to tree. Some of them wore more steel, some less, but none of them wanted to be under free fire. Armed with shields and arming swords, only their officer had a hand-and-a-half sword.


    Breg was still in hiding behind an especially big conifer tree. He watched Buron and their allies as they shot horses and men. Keeping eye contact with his bald companion, he held his bardiche axe close to his chest and waited. One last look at Zaber followed. He knelt in waiting behind a layer of brambles. The two friends nodded at each other. The brothers Asti and Ludi were close, fleeing towards Zaber. When their pursuers reached the greasy and unkempt man ¨C further down the hills ¨C sooner than their forces were approaching the crossbowmen. Like that, the greasy and unkempt man surprised his and the brother¡¯s enemies by throwing a hooded oil lamp at a prepared bush and setting the forest ablaze. The battle had begun.


    With no vision of his own, Breg only knew that everyone was focused on shooting. He and Buron were placed as bait, the first to be charged. Smoke from the spreading fire was covering them. The unreasonably tall man wore his plated maille, metal vambraces and greaves, with simple maille woven onto leather gloves. The barbuta helmet he wore had an open slit, giving him a wider view. And what he saw was Buron in his eroded, sleeveless gambeson. A pair of sturdy gloves and a solid piece of metal, pressed into the form of a kettle helmet. The scrawny veteran gave his tall companion a subtle sign, just smiling and nodding.


    Shifting into a wide stance, and out of his cover at the same time, Breg swung his bardiche axe around the corner. A soldier was hit right in the shield, caught off-guard, and swept off his feet, falling down the hill. Another man right next to him was barely able to evade the same attack, slipping on his feet and bending forward. What he had to look up to was more akin to a mythical creature. Wild hair grew out of a helmet, as tall and broad as the lumber around them.


    ¡°Siamo in cima!¡± cried the bandits, headed by Nancia. She was about to face her own enemies soon enough, kicking her flamberge off the ground and swinging it around to keep them at bay. There was no doubt that she knew what she was doing, defending her men.


    The Margrave¡¯s soldiers wore better armor and were well trained, but Breg and Nancia had the high ground. And a reach advantage. On top of that, neither of them moved like they were wearing armor at all. They overpowered their enemies, swept away their shields, pressured them downhill and landed powerful strikes all over. All while more bolts hit them in the chests and heads.


    ¡°Left flank, fall back!¡± ordered a far reaching bass from behind. Slowly raising his bastard sword, he carefully moved closer towards Breg. His two underlings were struggling too, always falling down, only saved by their armor. One got a bolt sticking out from under a pauldron. ¡°Circumvent; outflank! I¡¯ll take¨C¡± said Romund, until a shot splintered over his hounskull bascinet. He glared at Buron. ¡°Them.¡±


    Retreating was hard, as Breg did not intend to let this happen. He was Buron¡¯s frontline, so pursuing too far was not an option. But within the reach of his polearm, he tried to attack for as long as he could.


    ¡°D¨¡ eis v¨¥l¨­cit¨¡tem,¡± sang Romund, pitching his voice up as far as he could ¨C which wasn¡¯t much. But it gave the cavalrymen the needed boost to get away, and him to take their place. He wasn¡¯t a tall man himself, broad and stubby instead, so he had to face upwards even more so. ¡°I¡¯m your opponent now, giant,¡± he said, raising his blade into a fighting stance.


    A slash of Breg¡¯s polearm hit him promptly, forcing his feet. ¡°Ego immobilis,¡± chanted the knight when he felt the overwhelming difference in their raw physicality. A small portion of Arcanium in Romund¡¯s sabatons glowed, turning him immovable.


    The unreasonably tall man knew enough about fighting line magicians and noblemen. They were unpredictable until the first words were sung. A lot of scouting, back in their mercenary days, was about finding out the names of enemy officers. And a lot of a squire¡¯s early training on campaign was about learning the names and known spells of other famous noblemen. Breg knew that he had to use every trick in the book after his first attack felt like hitting a wall.


    The giant veteran stepped aside and grunted in a way that was all too familiar to his scrawny companion. It was a well trained routine between them. When Breg stepped to the side, Buron moved in and shot at the knight from a couple feet away. Then, Breg moved back in front of him. The gap was too close to simply move forward, especially now that a bolt stuck in the maille around Romund¡¯s helmet.


    Breg gave it his all with the next overhead strike, knowing that the remnants of the last spell might still be active. Steel clashed on steel, blocked. The unreasonably tall man used all his strength to bind their weapons together and get up close. If the knight had time to speak or breathe, this would be over sooner than later. And Buron needed time to reload.


    The remaining bandits switched to their axes and maces when the soldiers came close enough. All of them wore simple helmets and paddings, and nobody had a background as a rank and file. They were pure criminals and marauders. Nancia did the heavy lifting by occupying three men at once, constantly moving around so that her flanks were protected by at least one tree. A one-woman threat, never losing momentum with her flamberge.


    ¡°Ego l¨¡psus!¡± boomed the bass through the woods.


    Everyone¡¯s attention was drawn towards Romund and Breg. The cavalrymen were in awe of their officer, while Franque¡¯s men knew that their success depended on the defeat of the knight. As the lieutenant parried the bardiche to the side, he switched to half-swording and did the same as Breg ¨C get closer. No Arcanium was burned as his verse reached its target and moved the soil behind Breg, sliding it downhill. While the unreasonably tall man had earth pushed into his heels, Buron lost the ground beneath his soles.


    ¡°Voc¨­ radic¨C¡± Romund was stopped before he could combine spells. With a wooden creak beneath them, the scrawny veteran fell onto the soft soil. Breg interrupted the knight by letting go of his weapon, wrapping his arms around his foe ¨C keeping himself from slipping. He held him around his sword, and pushed his fingers between the gaps of plate armor to get a hold of Romund. A brief struggle between the two bearded men ensued before Breg flung the ironclad knight against a nearby tree.


    ¡°I¡¯m alright,¡± said Buron, his knees and feet sunk into loose soil. He scrambled for ammunition and reloaded. ¡°Do your thing.¡±


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    Stumbling forward, Breg nodded. Lunging forward, the giant veteran aimed to grab Romund¡¯s sword and arms. His best chance was to overpower him, but the kneeling knight had already pushed his blade into the ground and the Arcanium burned hot.


    ¡°Move¨­ terram!¡± The bastard sword itself vibrated like a tuning fork as the whole area shook violently, moving into the valley, bending the trees. His own underlings and their enemies were affected, forcing everyone to stop or trip. Only Romund himself benefited from this spell.


    ¡°Voc¨­ radices,¡± was the booming bass¡¯ next line, deep from his belly. The other side of his sword burned up Arcanium, as the trees¡¯ bases were freed to move. Revolting roots sprang from the ground, lashing out like whips. For better armed men, this was not too much of a problem, even though nobody was able to withstand it fully. But for Franque¡¯s men and Buron it was like many pole attacks at once, hitting them in the sides, legs and backs. Only Nancia¡¯s white armor and the mountainous former mercenary could stand up against brute force like this.


    Grinding his teeth, with a string of saliva running into his beard, Breg used the pain to fuel his anger. His hands were already at the knight¡¯s hilt and grip, when his composure was broken by a voice from behind.


    ¡°Pfff!¡± Buron let out a sharp wheeze. ¡°Fuck it!¡± He yelled, letting go of his crossbow. His hands were pressing down on his bad knee, dislocated by a graze. The bald man drew his falchion and stood up on one leg, a tremble running through him.


    Heat pumped through Breg¡¯s veins at the mere thought of Buron being hurt. He tore at the knight¡¯s sword with one hand and punched his foe¡¯s hands with the other one. A measly, spoiled swine like him had not suffered a single day in his life. Yet, he made commonfolk suffer. He made Buron suffer.


    ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s¡­¡± chanted Romund, filling his hands and arms with strength. The lieutenant felt the ground beneath him move. Whoever the man he fought was, his strength felt oppressive, as he was pushed back. ¡°¡­ ad terram meam!¡± Romund chained the verses together, expanding the reach bestowed onto himself to the ground beneath him. The earth itself kept him in place.


    As the previous spell faded away and the roots retreated, natural strength met magical. The soil became solid again. As he stood up, Romund ripped his sword out of Breg¡¯s hands while pushing him away with a kick to the hip. He raised his bastard sword above his head for a devastating strike against the unarmed giant. But even with rooted footing, Breg didn¡¯t move. Not even an inch. Instead, he grabbed the knight¡¯s hands and kept them high above his head.


    ¡°D¨¡ mih¨C¡± Romund¡¯s words were quenched when the colossus¡¯ helm smashed into his own. Interrupted, the old spell was already on its way out. Romund¡¯s head snapped back and his brain scrambled. Next thing the knight felt was steel hitting into his flank, as Buron had crept up on his side.


    ¡°Hold him tight!¡± yelled Buron hitting the exposed side of Romund¡¯s cuirass over and over, aiming for the armpit. The scrawny man¡¯s stance was bad, leaning mostly on his good leg.


    A different kind of anger crept through the nobleman. His armor kept the promise of the blacksmiths and enchanters that made it. The dishonor of the commonfolk, even a worthy opponent like this giant, boiled his blood. ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s!¡± sung the lieutenant once more, leaving only one or two more charges of Arcanium. He struck down his sword, breaking free from Breg¡¯s hands, and smashed it onto the giant¡¯s helmet. A dent was left, after which the blade ground onto his shoulder as well.


    Breg¡¯s sight went dark for a blink, and he held onto the first thing his mailled fingers found. This gave Romund enough time to deal with Buron, who was still hammering into his side. He held his bastard sword one-handed, still filled with remnants of his spell, and caught the scrawny veteran¡¯s blade in his gauntlet. Ripping it out of Buron¡¯s hand, Romund thrusted it back into his face, hilt first.


    The scream of his bald companion brought Breg back into the fight. One glimpse to the side and he saw blood running down Buron¡¯s nose, as he held his eye. After regaining his consciousness, he lost his mind and saw red. His hands rushed towards Romund¡¯s helmet and tore at it, fiddled around, and ripped open his visor. The two armored men fought for control while Breg drove his thumbs into the knight¡¯s eyes.


    Voices and shadows around Buron and Breg didn¡¯t reach them. Too much was the bald man concerned with the pain in his face and knee, and his colossal companion with vengeance. He did everything to keep Romund from chanting. He did everything to keep him away from his beloved.


    ¡°D¨¡ m¨C¡± The lieutenant¡¯s groans were broken by proper words. He pulled on Breg¡¯s wrists ¨C about to crush them by burning through all Arcanium left in the scripture. But before his Will could reach Nature, a kick to his side pushed him out of Breg¡¯s hands. It was followed by a wide overhead swing from a flamberge, pushing him downhill.


    ¡°Retraite!¡± yelled Nancia, dirt and bark all over her armor. ¡°I two victimes; Franque et Zabre fallen,¡± she said, while swinging around her giant sword to keep Romund at bay.


    ¡°Eh¨C¡± Romund¡¯s voice broke as he straightened up. ¡°Ego immobilis!¡± he chanted, as his entire armor glowed up. Closing his visor again, he walked right through the flurry that Nancia was unleashing onto him. His own sword rose too, forcing Nancia back.


    Buron was unable to get on his own feet and run, so it was time for Breg to pull himself together. The woman-at-arms was right, he saw the chaos around them. Men had fallen and were dragged away, helped by¡­ strangers? There was no time to think about them. He picked up Buron, patted Nancia on her helmet from behind, and ran.


    ¡°You alright?¡± asked the bald man held in front of Breg¡¯s chest. His right eye was bloodshot and swollen, while he pushed his bloody nostrils shut. No words followed, but his colossal companion¡¯s strong arms tightened around him. Buron leaned into this bear of a man, wrapping one arm around his neck. He may only weigh half of Breg, but he wanted to relieve him as much as he could. It also felt nice¡­


    The unreasonably tall man watched their path, as he sprinted through the forest. It seemed that only the woman-at-arms had success in felling two men. Everyone else was overwhelmed and forced to flee. A couple of men in dark attire swarmed around, aiding the fallen and wounded. It was hard for Breg to focus, as every peek at Buron¡¯s bloody face made his heartbeat skip. Thoughts about his father, and being treated as if he was an offering on an altar or at a meat market, pierced into his heart. He was threatened with loneliness, a feeling that was only soothed by a cradling hand around his neck.


    ¡°Ego l¨¡psus!¡± A guttural bass sounded from behind them, accompanied by the sound of a small landslide and bending trees.


    ¡°Over here!¡± A woman with a boy, younger than Torm, waved at the bandits and former mercenaries. She wore the chausses and tied work boots of a man, dyed in the same faded black as all the strangers. After closing in on her, she had a crude leather patch over her right eye and a butcher¡¯s cleaver in her belt. ¡°Our wagons are down there,¡± she said, pointing to the glade that was on top of the hill. It was the opposite end from where Zaber and Franque had led them to their positions.


    ¡°Ma,¡± said the boy and pointed behind Breg. ¡°A knight¡¯s following them.¡±


    ¡°Putain,¡± cursed the armored woman, soil leaking out of the gaps of her white armor. She dragged the flamberge behind her one-handed, as the other arm was reddened.


    ¡°She¡¯s the last of us,¡± said Buron. ¡°Everyone after her isn¡¯t one of us.¡±


    ¡°Good to know,¡± replied the one-eyed woman. ¡°Our hunters found you robbing the knights. Everyone who¡¯s not a soldier is welcome with us.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± said Breg, cradling up on Buron and continuing. He overtook the brigands and their unknown aides, not even panting. But his heart raced even faster.


    ¡°Help her Telf,¡± ordered the mother. Her son closed in on Nancia, but was denied help. She didn¡¯t even let him carry her sword, leaving the two clad in black behind without a word, just following Breg.


    ¡°What is going on here? Who are¨C¡± Telf looked at his mother, eating his words after watching the two heavily armored ones. After making sure that nobody was following, they also made their way downhill.


    ¡°Starsends,¡± replied his mother, looking towards the sun, raising her fist in gratitude. ¡°Father Sun led us together. Today is our lucky day.¡±

 Chapter 34 - Day Sixteen

    Chapter 34


    Day Sixteen ¨C Afternoon


    With the ¡®click¡¯ of a lock and the rattling of chains, all prisoners were put behind bars again. Smoke rose from the remnants of charred trees. The sweaty coachman had repaired as much of it as he could, hammered together and roped together. The captives had their arms bound above their heads, and nobody was able to sit down with ease. Sagir¡¯s eye was swollen blue, as were many of his inmates¡¯ eyes.


    Two soldiers were killed and two unable to walk; the same two who had lost their horses. The fallen men were thrown amidst the cages to rot. Many were bruised and battered, nobody was unharmed, except the old coacher.


    ¡°Now you¡¯ve done it,¡± said the soldier who was finishing up the chains. ¡°If any of you acts up, all of you lose a finger. One after another.¡±


    ¡°And if more of these vermin show up for you¨C¡± Romund pulled off his helmet and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. ¡°It doesn¡¯t stop with a finger,¡± he said, then marched towards the cage and reached inside. His cold gauntlets held Sagir at the chin, pulling his face closer. ¡°I will¨C¡± He stopped, and instead smacked the foreign prisoner once more with his tinned hand.


    Sagir had lost all sensation in his body. He felt neither pain nor blood loss. No spoken words reached him. Not the threats of the soldiers, or the pokes and kicks of his fellow inmates. Not the spits or murmured insults, aiming at his very nature.


    ¡°When this is over¨C¡± Beotold wiped the blood off his mouth and clenched his teeth ¨C their perfection ruined. A tremble surged through his square chin, staring into the woods, trying to figure out the bandit¡¯s pathing. ¡°Two more days,¡± he said. ¡°Two more days and I¡¯ll be freed of this useless third-rate excuse for the Noble Arts.¡±


    The knights¡¯ gazes locked onto Genhard. The lieutenant walked over to his captain, their armors tainted by dirt and dust. As were their egos.


    ¡°My Captain, I secured¨C¡± said the patrician meek. He held his arm to rest his broken clavicle.


    ¡°What?!¡± Beotold snapped at Genhard. ¡°What, cornet?! What did you secure?!¡± The nobleman stepped in front of the guildsman. ¡°You let them escape. Airich¡¯s men, the robbers, and that witch. You have accomplished nothing today. Nothing!¡± With each syllable, Beotold¡¯s baritone rose and became more like a chant. It struck fear into Genhard¡¯s eyes. ¡°You have been granted the privilege of joining our ranks, chosen by the Stars, and this is all you can do? This is it?! These are the commonfolk the Margrave and King are wasting precious Arcanium on?!¡±


    ¡°Sir, I am¨C¡± Genhard tried once more, but couldn¡¯t find the courage or volume to make himself heard.


    ¡°Nothing, I said!¡± Beotold became louder and louder, a distinct melody seeping into his speech that made him thunder through the whole valley. ¡°You are nothing! You¡¯ll do your duty, serve your time, and nothing will wait for you when you return. Everything will be in ruin.¡±


    ¡°Sir!¡± The patrician finally snapped back. ¡°I have single-handedly made sure that no prisoner fled. From the very beginning, I have put my life on the line,¡± said Genhard. His posture was still far from confident, but his tenor was undeniably rhythmic. ¡°I am an enchanter. My work provides comfort to your wives and daughter, power to our temples, and might to your arms. I have not been trained for this, yet I have killed that bogwitch and her monster. Before the days of the Kingdom and its infancy, these deeds would have granted me knighthood. I have outdone myself, if anyth¨C¡±


    ¡°Say that again.¡± Romund¡¯s eyes narrowed like those of a predator, and Beotold joined him. The lieutenant put his hand on Genhard¡¯s shoulder and slid it towards his broken collarbone. His face got closer to that of the guildsman as well, along each inch of his moving hand.


    ¡°Repeat yourself,¡± ordered Beotold.


    ¡°I¨C, what?¡± The enchanter swallowed, with sweat running through his sideburns. He froze like a deer, even though he wanted to retreat. ¡°What part? That I have outdone my¨C¡±


    ¡°You think you deserve knighthood?¡± asked Beotold, standing right behind his second in command. Like a pillar, his face had become like stone. His hot anger had cooled down.


    ¡°No, I¨C¡± Genhard¡¯s tenor was quenched. He ran his hand through his flowing blonde hair that stuck together from sweat.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re like us?¡± While Beotold spoke, Romund¡¯s tinned fingers tore into the broken bone. ¡°Bred and drilled to serve our Lords?¡±


    ¡°Sir, I¨C¡± The patrician¡¯s face was painfully distorted.


    ¡°You think you can take me or Sir Romund on?¡± Beotold grabbed the hilt of his sword. ¡°You said it yourself.¡± His voice was slow and easy to follow. ¡°You are an enchanter; a tool for those of noble birth. Do you think you can take any of us who stand above your kind?¡± Only the wind and wildlife dared to speak. The soldiers and prisoners had fallen silent, no whispers or even breaths. ¡°Go on. Challenge us with your measly excuse of a voice. You think we¡¯re as easy as an ugly hag or creature?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± replied Genhard, panting under Romund¡¯s grip. ¡°I¨C, I mean¨C¡±


    Romund pulled Genhard closer, beards and foreheads touching with an intense gaze. ¡°You. Mean. What?¡±


    ¡°Our forefathers might have earned knighthood with such an easy task, but their magic was infantile,¡± said Beotold, piercing into the patrician¡¯s soul with his eyes. ¡°As are you. Our Lords are chosen to be the Star¡¯s Shepherds, and we are their Sheepdogs. Got it?¡±


    Genhard gulped. ¡°Got it,¡± he said. ¡°Sir.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll refurbish the Scr¨©pti¨­ with Arc¨¡nium from the mines,¡± said Beotold. The knights inspected each other¡¯s armor to keep track of what spells they could still amplify. ¡°This will end before we head back to Teblen. We have overestimated this disgrace of a man. General Airich respected the King¡¯s laws. No need to face this scum with false honor, we¡¯ll hunt them down like the animals they are.¡±


    The knights and soldiers mounted their steeds. Their wounded joined Genhard with the coachman. Escorting the transport had become more difficult with how many men and horses were lost or injured. But there was only one night left. This disadvantage would be compensated by harsher treatment and more beatings.


    ¡°Ya¡¯ hear that, blackhead?¡± whispered an old toothless inmate at Sagir. He fell silent when a soldier looked at him grim, toning down his voice afterwards. ¡°He!¡± The prisoner bumped his elbow against Sagir¡¯s slouched head. Both their arms were bound above their heads. ¡°I said ¡®He!¡¯ ya¡¯ damned blackhead. Ya¡¯ listening?¡± repeated the toothless man. ¡°Ya¡¯ dimwitted friends are done for. We trusted ya¡¯ with your goatsshit.¡±


    ¡°All mercy will be forsaken,¡± whispered a woman from behind. ¡°This is all your fault, heathen.¡±


    ¡°You¨C¡± uttered Sagir. Raising his head, his gaze wandered beyond his knees onto the moving road beneath them. He had kept his hair short enough to not be grabbed and thrown around by it for years, but it was growing out by now. Filth and blood cluttered it up, even covering the scar that ran into it from his forehead. ¡°Nothing¡¯s worse than before, we¡¯ll all be worked to death,¡± he uttered. ¡°He¡¯ll come for me, not for you.¡±


    ¡°Shut up and fuck a goat.¡± The toothless man failed to spit at Sagir, as his mouth had run dry. ¡°Why¡¯s he even coming for a goatfucker like you? He some kind of idiot?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll come again,¡± replied Sagir, determined, refusing to look at any of his inmates. ¡°Again and again.¡± The shining parts of their wardens¡¯ armor were dusted and soiled. Some were still good enough to see the Sun Maiden¡¯s reflection in them. ¡°He owes me; and he knows that.¡±


    - - - - - - - - -


    ¡°This way, o?lum,¡± said a soft, muffled voice in her mother tongue. ??ld?r opened the door of her shabby little shack, letting in the warm embrace of the Sun Maiden. Already old and worn-down, she still radiated a vigor that would brighten anyone¡¯s mood. ¡°You¡¯ll live here with me and your a?abey.¡±


    A frail boy of no more than eight stepped inside, wrapped in a burlap tunic. He looked around timidly. There was a metal stove, some half-broken furniture, two stools around a small round table, and a couple of spare garments. Two beds with woolen blankets and straw mattresses stood along the back wall. A hammock swung between them. There was only one window next to the creaking door, the wooden shutters wide open.


    It was still warm enough to not waste any of their sparse firewood. The boy noticed that there were no candles around, nor woodcuts of the Prophecies or the Prophet himself. Only three old prayer rugs without any embroidery on them.


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    ¡°Three?¡± asked the boy, and pointed at the neatly hung carpets above the beds.


    ¡°Yes, this one is for you,¡± said ??ld?r. Draped covered in black robes, only a few gray strands showing under her headscarf. ¡°My sister does not need it anymore.¡± A warm smile flashed over her lips.


    ¡°Was she older or younger than you?¡± The boy had gone through too much over the last Constellation to be deceived. Time had taught him a harsh lesson. Sitting down on one of the stools, he looked at the old lady who had shown him around the city. The few streets they were allowed in, and the market he had arrived at.


    ??ld?r pulled the second stool next to her ward, sat down and placed a hand on his. ¡°She was my abla. We came here together and she took good care of me,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry o?lum, she¡¯s with her family on the back of the bull now.¡±


    ¡°She was a bull?¡± The boy¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°I¡¯m a bull too!¡±


    ¡°You are?¡± The old woman¡¯s face brightened too, as she embraced the boy wholeheartedly. ¡°You are truly a Starsend.¡±


    ¡°Under what star were you born?¡± asked the boy, holding onto ??ld?r. He closed his eyes and his body softened for the first time in days. ¡°My baba was a lion,¡± he uttered.


    ¡°A lion you say?¡± The old woman leaned back, but held onto the child¡¯s shoulders while looking into his eyes. ¡°I am nothing strong or fierce like you and your baba. I am but a fish.¡± She let go for a moment to form a fin with her hand, paddling against the waves. ¡°Swift and clean.¡±


    ¡°Also prosperous,¡± added the boy. ¡°Baba said my anne was a hawk. They met on the Day of Flames, when baba became a yaya.¡± He hadn¡¯t talked to anyone for a couple of days, as he did not understand the beyaz? tongue. His group of war prisoners were shipped around Gal¨¢zion. Through the Calorean Sea, up to the Cealdean Sea that made up nearly all of Albion¡¯s coasts. From there, they made their way on land, south again, traveling through all important cities along the river that led to Teblen. He was alone by that point, as nobody wanted a thin little thing like him.


    ¡°Oooh¨C¡± ??ld?r made a long face, in awe. ¡°A yaya you say? He sounds like a great man. Where was he given land after his service?¡±


    ¡°We did not have land. He chose to stay with his Yayabashi and became a ?avu? before my sisters were born,¡± said the boy. Thinking about his family, he was filled with sadness again. ¡°And now¨C¡± he uttered. ¡°And now he¡¯s¨C¡±


    ¡°O?lum¨C¡± Once more was the boy embraced by the old woman. She patted his head and hummed into his ear. ¡°You are with me now. Soon enough, your new a?abey will come home from work too. You are not alone, my beloved.¡±


    ??ld?r held her new ward for as long as he sobbed and sniveled. Her warm embrace was relentless. Only when the boy spoke again did she let go of him.


    ¡°Where are you from, ??ld?r?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± She smiled and spread her hands far and wide. ¡°I am from many places,¡± she said. ¡°I was born in Bur?aq, but we fled when I was even smaller than you.¡± Her hands formed the wings of a bird that flew away. ¡°My family was visited by A?a Kars Ay-Din after which I served in his ?ar¨©m. There I learned to read and write and many tales I can tell you. He took us on many journeys, and I slept and feasted in many cities and witnessed his many great deeds.¡±


    The boy listened with wide eyes and an open mouth. He had seen nobility, officials and officers like his own father, but hadn¡¯t been allowed to speak to them. His sisters had often talked about a future among them.


    ¡°You must have been beautiful,¡± uttered the child to the withered woman that was only growing smaller.


    ¡°She still is,¡± said a voice from outside. One creak later and the door stood wide open. A tall young man pulled a patterned, loose turban from his head, revealing his thick black hair. He was barely fully grown. Energetic dark eyes smiled at the boy. ¡°You can ask anybody of age here, Nene and Teyze were sought-after treasures.¡±


    Before ??ld?r could welcome the young man, he had already embraced her, keeping her on the stool. ¡°My beloved,¡± she whispered, as if he had been away forever. ¡°This is Sagir, son of Erdek. The master has acquired him this morning, to keep the shop clean.¡±


    ¡°Does that old tight-arse think you cannot do it alone anymore?¡± asked the young man spitefully.


    The way he walked and talked fascinated Sagir, reminded him of the pride of their kin. Back home. ??ld?r had shown him nothing but kindness. But she and the Yesilian scribe at the market place ¨C they called him Q¨¡rat ¨C were tamed. There was no sign of the Prophet¡¯s fire in them anymore. Sagir always wondered about the k¨¡fir servants and how broken their will was. He was told they were weak, as all beyaz? were. They were not descended from the Wolf, or of the Prophet¡¯s words. But things were different now¡­


    ¡°Ceyhan! Keep your voice down,¡± said the old woman loud, knocking against the tall youngster¡¯s head. ¡°Say, have you eaten already?¡±


    ¡°I have, nene.¡± Ceyhan smiled and turned towards the boy. ¡°I am happy that our empty bed will be filled,¡± he said and bowed. ¡°As-sal¨¡mu ?alaykum.¡±


    ¡°Wa ?alaykumu s-salam,¡± responded Sagir, his eyes filling with tears as he shook the young man¡¯s hand.


    ¡°As I told you, only do this in private,¡± said ??ld?r. ¡°We are forbidden from practicing our customs. The punishment can be severe.¡± She grabbed her own arm above the elbow, rubbing it through her clothes.


    ¡°Did you already tell the ma?lis, or will Q¨¡rat?¡± asked the young man, bringing his tunic and the cloth belt in order as he noticed Sagir¡¯s eyes on him. ¡°I can bring him over so he can be confirmed as your ward if you need to rest. I¡¯m heading towards Kovada anyw¨C¡±


    ¡°Again?¡± The old woman¡¯s voice whimpered. ¡°I do not approve of this. You shouldn¡¯t bother Bey Kovada further, it is disgraceful how he is treated already.¡±


    ¡°A bey?¡± Sagir stopped sniveling. ¡°Is he¨C¡± The boy stuttered. ¡°Is he the head of your ma?lis? What is that?¡± He had heard that word a couple of times today, but only understood that they were the head of their community. And not to be spoken of in public.


    ¡°No, he is too humble for that,¡± replied Ceyhan. He walked towards a bed and pulled the blanket to the side, revealing a sturdy quarterstaff. Inspecting the wood and carved writings under heavy sighs from his nene, he took it of and leaned onto it. ¡°I can take him to Kovada and then the ma?lis. I¡¯m just waiting for Hanifa.¡±


    ¡°Hanifa?¡± The old woman jumped up, raced to the window and looked out in suspicion. ¡°I told you this woman will not step into my home. When did you stop listening to me? I don¡¯t want her around you.¡±


    ¡°What is wrong with her?¡± asked Sagir, looking back and forth between the two older ones in the room. He also tried to peek out of the window, but didn¡¯t want to upset his caretaker by standing up.


    ¡°She is improper and from H¨±ja. Women from the mountains are¨C¡± said Ceyhan mockingly at the same time as ??ld?r.


    Her voice rang very serious, but stopped abruptly. For the first time, Sagir saw the fire he was missing earlier, as she rushed through the room to slap the young man with a resounding ¡®clap¡¯. Ceyhan¡¯s face bounded to the side, while he suppressed a laugh that enraged the old woman even more.


    ¡°Do not mock me! This is what I mean; she is a bad influence, and she is from H¨±ja!¡± ??ld?r sounded as if nobody would believe her. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to be further corrupted by her. And don¡¯t ask Bey Kovada to teach you any more. Please¨C¡± She halted her speech and grabbed Ceyhan¡¯s hands with both of hers. ¡°Please, she¡¯ll be the death of you, if not all of us.¡±


    A knock from the wooden shutters of the window intruded the following silence. Only Hanifa¡¯s head and shoulders were visible. She knew that she would not be subject to the old woman¡¯s hospitality. ¡°Sal¨¡m, ??ld?r,¡± said the young woman and bowed her head. A loose black veil hid her hair, and her big brown eyes spotted Sagir like a hawk. Her face was slim, a prominent nose and a stab scar in her left cheek stood out. Sagir was immediately fascinated by her. The way she scanned the room, dead serious, until her gaze met that of Ceyhan.


    ¡°Sal¨¡m, Hanifa,¡± returned ??ld?r the bow.


    ¡°Who is the young brother?¡± asked Hanifa and smiled at Sagir. Her question was targeted at the woman of the house, and she was able to shut Ceyhan up with just a glimpse.


    ¡°This bright young man is Sagir ibn Karda?.¡± ??ld?r switched to a different dialect without effort, as she hugged the boy again ¨C more possessive than before.


    ¡°I speak the Sultan¡¯s tongue fluently,¡± replied Hanifa, her previous smile fading. ¡°Sal¨¡m, Sagir, son of Karda?.¡± She bowed once more. ¡°That is a name from Haydi, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Sal¨¡m,¡± said Sagir coy, hiding a little in ??ld?r¡¯s arms. ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°He has yet to meet with the ma?lis,¡± said Ceyhan and put a hand on the boy¡¯s head. ¡°We gonna take him with us to Koavada and then¨C¡±


    ¡°The elders must wait, the Sun Maiden is about to rest,¡± interrupted the old woman, also putting a hand on Sagir¡¯s head. The look on his face grew smothered. ¡°He is too young for your kind of troubles.¡±


    ¡°Do not worry, Nene.¡± Ceyhan put his other hand on top of his ??ld?r¡¯s hand as well and joined the hug. ¡°We¡¯ll not leave the street, nor break the curfew.¡±


    Nene¡¯s hands were trembling. She radiated anxiety into Sagir himself, who couldn¡¯t see any of their faces above him anymore. But between the loving knot of his new family, he saw Hanifa¡¯s face softening.


    ¡°Do you want to come with us, ??ld?r?¡± asked Hanifa, leaning onto the window frame. ¡°We can visit the ma?lis first, then you take brother Sagir back. You haven¡¯t met the elders in ages, I am sure they would be happy to see you.¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡± stuttered Nene. ¡°I don¡¯t know. They have taken Urmye into their wise circle. I love her, I really do. But¨C¡±


    ¡°Nene,¡± interrupted Ceyhan, as the bundle separated and left Sagir to breathe. ¡°We need the wisest and most experienced among us to lead. Don¡¯t be like this, you and Urmye have been here forever. We¡¯re running out of old men.¡±


    ¡°What do you want, Sagir?¡± asked Hanifa.


    ¡°I think¡­¡± Sagir gathered his thoughts. ¡°I think I would like to see Bey Kovada.¡± The boy nodded enthusiastically. ¡°Yes, that is what I want.¡±


    ¡°O?lum, please,¡± whispered Nene. She lost herself in Sagir¡¯s eyes, but spoke to Ceyhan and Hanifa over his head. ¡°Do not corrupt him. He is too innocent, too pure. You two are lost, but he isn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Nene.¡± Ceyhan kissed her on the forehead. ¡°All of us are lost. I¡¯ll do as you say; but all of us are lost.¡±


    Hanifa knocked on the wooden shutters again and turned around. ¡°There¡¯s only one way out of here,¡± she said. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

 Chapter 35 - Day Sixteen

    Chapter 35


    Day Sixteen ¨C Sundown


    Father Sun made his bed in the same way he did every day. Two carts entered a mountain grove, away from any road or path, in an accessible valley. The peasants and their rescues were met by a camp of even more carts and wagons, with oxen, a couple of draft horses, and a small herd of swine and chicken. Men, women, and children were roaming around small fires and makeshift tents.


    Zaber and one of Franque¡¯s men were carried in on makeshift stretchers. The latter had his neck bandaged, and pressed down by a comrade. The former had his armor removed from his torso to relieve the pressure from his broken ribs. His left forearm was swollen black and blue, and the sound of his breathing was impossible to ignore. The greasy and unkempt man hadn¡¯t spoken in a long time, his facial burns covered with a wet cloth. He stared at the sky with an angry grimace.


    ¡°Let me help you,¡± said Thyra to Torm.


    The apprentice followed his mentor. Zaber was carried by that old man, and his near-identical-looking son, who had helped them before. ¡°Th¨C¡± Torm groaned in pain. Moving his face burned, with all that dirt on his torn skin. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°This needs vinegar or alcohol,¡± said Thyra, wiping Torm¡¯s face with a wet piece of cloth. Her gaze followed that of the young man, resting on Zaber. ¡°He¨C¡± she halted and switched to a whisper. ¡°He hasn¡¯t said a single word. Didn¡¯t even make a sound when I checked on his ribs.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± nodded Torm. He didn¡¯t care if Zaber heard him or not. ¡°We fucking blew it. That was our last chance.¡±


    Down on her luck and covered in dry sweat, the rugged woman didn¡¯t know what to do or say next. Or what to feel. She looked around the camp and the abundance of folk crept under her skin. Seeing how Franque and his men kept together, supporting him and each other, she was drawn to stay with Torm and Buron.


    Nancia walked next to Breg, spearheading their group. Both were still wearing their armor, and the woman-at-arms even her helmet. The unreasonably tall man still carried Buron. The way he looked at anybody that came close, a bark or bite might slip any moment. Next to him, Nancia looked dignified to Thyra. With that much fear in his whole demeanor, the giant man that broke into her and her mother¡¯s house was gone.


    ¡°You can let go of me,¡± whispered Buron, holding onto his companion¡¯s strong shoulders.


    ¡°A bit more,¡± replied Breg, his eyes glued to Buron¡¯s. ¡°Please.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± said the scrawny man, and pulled his companion¡¯s helmet off. Carefully, he fixed Breg¡¯s hair and beard for him.


    ¡°You scar,¡± mumbled Nancia under the frog-mouthed helmet that hid her away from the peasants¡¯ curious gazes. ¡°I saw.¡±


    ¡°Got my knee pierced clean,¡± said Buron, who had only eyes for Breg right now. ¡°Six or¨C¡± He thought. ¡°Five years ago.¡±


    Even though neither of them could feel human touch under their armor, Nancia placed a hand on Breg¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Tout va bien?¡±


    The giant turned his head slowly with a confused furrow of his brows. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You¨C¡± The woman-at-arms stuttered a couple of half-wrong words without finishing any of them. ¡°Good?¡±


    Breg looked forward at Buron again, who smiled as he felt strong arms tighten around him. ¡°We are,¡± replied the bald one instead.


    Thyra listened to her allies and watched them closely. Seeing how Franque¡¯s men treated each other, and Nancia warming up to tall and bald, she mused if these folk were her friends or¡­ did she even want that?


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t for nothing,¡± said Zaber, breaking through Thyra and Torm¡¯s wandering minds. ¡°We¡¯ll try again. We¡¯ll get our horses and try again.¡± He still stared into the sky. With each word, his face was filled with more anger, though his voice was restrained from the broken ribs. Even more so from the voice that burned hot in his neck.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I told the peppersack,¡± said Torm. He walked right next to the stretcher, restraining himself from touching it or Zaber. The old peasant and his son were pointed through the camp by their fellow men and the one-eyed woman. ¡°But what¡¯s there still to do? We need to recover first, our advantage is gone, and¨C¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow we¡¯ll ride again,¡± interrupted Zaber. ¡°We have two days left.¡±


    ¡°Have you lost it?¡± Torm was baffled. ¡°You and Franque need to rest. All of us have to, but you two and his¨C¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll do it alone.¡± Zaber raised his arm to silence his apprentice, but the pain struck down soon enough. ¡°You go back to Teblen. Take her with you, leave Breg and Buron a share from the chest and what¡¯s left of my belongings,¡± he uttered detached. ¡°Tell Hanifa and Marghe¨C¡± He stopped. ¡°You know what.¡±


    Children of all ages flocked around the wounded until their parents pulled them away. Straw mats and blankets awaited the brigands and former mercenaries. Water was brought to them. Franque¡¯s men struggled to contain their leader, who wanted to check on all of them. When standing on the side of his ear wound, they had to yell at him.


    ¡°Did you hear that, Buron?¡± Thyra knelt next to where Breg placed the bald veteran. ¡°He wants to do it again; tomorrow!¡±


    ¡°Zaber, please,¡± uttered Torm, as he sat down. With a sunken head and slouched shoulders, his mouth opened and closed. It took a while before he had something to say. ¡°You can¡¯t do this to me. I messed this up, I need to learn more from you firs¨C¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± said Breg. He didn¡¯t squat down for long, standing as tall as ever, looking down on Torm. ¡°You did well. We all failed.¡± One piece after another, he got rid of his armor. ¡°We fight uphill, no matter how much we prepare. We can¡¯t do this anymore.¡±


    ¡°By the Stars,¡± gasped Thyra, grabbing her mouth as her body sunk into itself in relief. ¡°I¡¯m glad you haven¡¯t lost your minds.¡±


    ¡°We need to break into the prison,¡± said the unreasonably tall man, wiggling off his maille. Buron couldn¡¯t suppress a burst of laughter, hearing their friend talk like nothing happened. ¡°That¡¯s the kind of plan Ash would come up with. We¡¯re that bastard¡¯s marauding children.¡± He took off his old gambeson as well, towering over everyone in his fully glorious strength. Sweaty and hairy, his arms and core were like a tree with many scars as bark.


    ¡°Are you insane?¡± Thyra¡¯s mezzo rose a tinge. ¡°Are you all fucking insane?¡± It rose even more. ¡°I can sing to you, but more folk means it¡¯s spread out further. The lightly wounded may be alright tomorrow, but Buron and Torm will take at least two nights. And you and Franque even longer.¡± The rugged woman looked back and forth between their allies¡¯ camp next to them and Zaber. ¡°Our belongings, and the poppy juice, are with the horses.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight, we¡¯ll borrow one of their horses and get ours tomorrow,¡± said Zaber, finally expressing more than just anger. Knowing his friends were at his side brought back the confidence, even though he still stared into the sky and barely moved. ¡°Torm will take you somewhere safe. You can begin your own life there. I¡¯ve heard the right words now; I still got Airich¡¯s sword. This ain¡¯t over, we still have to avenge Asher, right?¡±


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°Damned right,¡± replied Breg and joined Buron on the ground, who held his knee but also nodded. ¡°I want to rip that dirt knight in half. No matter if they¡¯re beyond us or not.¡±


    ¡°Are they?¡± A deep female voice reached them from behind. The one-eyed woman wore her brown hair in a knot at the back of her neck, presenting no smile. She was in the midst of her forties, and the underfed ox of a man to her right was at least fifty. They were followed by her son, a thin but worked boy, about two or three years younger than Torm. ¡°Bigge here told me you fought two knights to the ground.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re having a talk here,¡± said Zaber, not able to see them. ¡°You saved our arses, but we got planning to do.¡±


    ¡°Thank you so much.¡± Thyra tried to get up, but her legs wouldn¡¯t move. She caught a glimpse of Bigge¡¯s children, who took care of Franque and his men. She also noticed that Nancia was still wearing her armor. ¡°What are your names?¡±


    ¡°I am Roda,¡± said the one-eyed woman. She waved at her son and Bigge, who straightened his gugel and adjusted the remaining hair on his half-bald head. ¡°This is my brother-in-law, and this is my son Telf.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight.¡± Zaber tried to get a look at their saviors, but was kept down by Torm and Thyra. Pain seared through his body. ¡°Zaber, Torm, Breg, Buron and Thyra. Come back later, we have¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re no merchants, are you?¡± asked Torm, counting the many folks around them. Old, young, parents, children; hundreds of them. ¡°Those are farming carts and animals and no goods for selling.¡±


    ¡°I thought they were a funeral procession,¡± said Thyra, mustering their clothes. All adults¡¯ clothes were dyed with dark oak. Her gaze lasted the longest on Roda, wearing pants, without covered hair. ¡°That¡¯s the rite, isn¡¯t it? I don¡¯t mean to be rude, but you should move on fast. We mean trou¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± said Bigge with an awkward, yet kind, smile.


    ¡°Let her speak, Bigge,¡± said Roda and her brother-in-law bit his lip and clenched his fist. ¡°Y¡¯all can stay with us for now, we have nothing to fear. Our other hunting troop brought back a deer and its fawn. We don¡¯t have much, but we are eager to share.¡±


    Hearing the one-eyed woman speak, a spasm flashed through Thyra¡¯s chest. She wanted to speak, stop the conversation between the veterans, but her tongue and thoughts choked her.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t have any luck with the other villages,¡± said Telf from behind his mother. His tunic and leg wraps were rather simple, as were his shoes and belt. That made the folded leather cap he wore stand out even more, adorned by a hand-carved wooden button that showed a may tree. ¡°We can¡¯t stay too long.¡± His eyes were distracted by all the weapons and armor. Especially the longsword right next to Zaber.


    ¡°We¡¯ll discuss the matter over supper,¡± replied Roda and ran her eyes through the misfits in front of her. ¡°While we hold counsel, make yourself comfortable. I¡¯ll return as soon as you are done.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± asked Buron before Roda and Bigge turned away. He rubbed his hands and held the warmth against his knee.


    ¡°We told you.¡± Telf shook his head, blinking confused. ¡°My ma is Roda, my uncle is Bigge, and I am¨C¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what he asked,¡± interrupted Breg, grizzling his voice. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°He ain¡¯t wrong,¡± said Zaber, breathing unsteadily and holding his torso. ¡°We ain¡¯t poking into your business. But if we stay with y¡¯all, we need to know who we share camp with.¡±


    ¡°Fair,¡± nodded Roda. ¡°That is the matter I wanted to speak about anyways.¡± She came closer until she stood right next to Breg, making this average woman look tiny. But not intimidated. ¡°We are the subjects of Sir Ludwald of Luphon. That¡¯s a small mountainside keep, roughly¨C¡± She halted and looked at Bigge.


    ¡°Forty or less,¡± said the stout man, shaking his hand in a guess.


    ¡°Forty or less miles northeast of here,¡± repeated Roda. ¡°My family, and a dozen others, are from Penram, which his forefathers were granted lordship over. The other families are from Bromwich and Luphton, all a stone¡¯s throw apart from each other. And under his rule. We¡¯re traveling south for¡­¡± She halted once more and looked at her brother-in-law.


    ¡°As the young woman said, a funeral procession.¡± Bigge finished the sentence with a nod, which was repeated by Telf and Roda.


    Buron linked his bloodshot eyes with Breg¡¯s and Zaber¡¯s, giving each other invisible nods. He felt his nostrils and looked at his hand ¨C but the bleeding had stopped. ¡°We¡¯ve heard of you,¡± he said. ¡°Unruly rabble and all. Word¡¯s reaching the neighboring princedoms.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Torm looked at Thyra, shrugging equally confused.


    Just before Roda was able to speak, wasting time on a concerned look towards her brother-in-law, Breg interjected her. Much to her displeasure.


    ¡°You followed?¡±


    ¡°Likely,¡± said Roda. ¡°No village we¡¯ve spoken to has heard of Sir Ludwald coming after us. It¡¯s a month and we¡¯re forced to move slowly.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s¨C¡± Zaber¡¯s closed his eyes to concentrate. ¡°He¡¯s a small time landed knight. He got a handful of armored retainers at best. Enough for a small feud; taking a hostage, if he could levy y¡¯all.¡± After some waving with his hand, Torm helped the broken veteran up, against Thyra¡¯s gestures to stop. ¡°He¡¯s either hiring sellswords or petitioning his liege for aid. Worst case, a retainer or two are keeping track of you.¡±


    ¡°I make it you speak from experience?¡± asked Roda, squatting down and leaning towards Zaber. ¡°We haven¡¯t heard of Countess Adeldine, nor the local clergy either. Now that we¡¯ve introduced each other, mind sharing who you are?¡±


    With Torm bracing him, and Thyra trying to convince him otherwise with her eyes, Zaber spoke through his gritted teeth. ¡°This is Torm, I am Zaber.¡± He looked at Breg, who made room for the one-eyed woman, but kept close enough. Buron¡¯s gaze was hard to read with how smashed up he looked. ¡°Handsome over there¡¯s Buron, the other¡¯s Breg. We¡¯re vagabonds and beggars. The tinned arseholes you saw are tax collectors who felt the need to punish us,¡± said Zaber, barely able to keep his breath steady. ¡°This here is Nancia, she¨C¡±


    ¡°Is a traveling performer,¡± said the rugged woman. ¡°I¡¯m with Nancia and her posse.¡± Torm¡¯s face snapped at her, asking silent questions that went unanswered.


    ¡°Oh, Franque already told us that he¡¯s a merchant and got in trouble with the tax collectors,¡± said Telf from behind, crossing his arms like he got them. ¡°Said you¡¯re his hired muscle, because the mountains are so dangerous. No word of a Nancia.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± barked Breg at the boy, making him flinch. ¡°We drifting around for coin. Any problem with that, funeral boy?¡±


    ¡°Excuse my boy,¡± said Roda, glancing at Breg as if she had any power. ¡°Whatever the truth is, we¡¯re all in trouble. We¡¯ll treat you well, if you behave.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± nodded Zaber, and Buron and Breg joined in.


    ¡°I overheard the bit where you wanted to borrow one of our horses.¡± The one-eyed woman stood up, patted her clothes straight and adjusted her cleaver. ¡°Describe the spot and I¡¯ll send a man or two over night.¡±


    Thyra tried to make sense of what was happening. Everyone around them was armed with what little a village had to offer. Long knives, lumber axes, quarterstaves and small hunting bows. Many tools, hay for the animals, and spare planks, metal and wheels were lying around. Children were still trying to sneak closer to them, but were scared away by Roda¡¯s face alone. The one-eyed woman looked neither like Nancia, nor the peasant women they¡¯d met before. Everyone here seemed to have their guards up, but there was an aura of respect in the air.


    ¡°I need to talk to Franque first,¡± replied Zaber after gathering his thoughts through the pain. ¡°Our belongings are all stored at the same place.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± Roda passed Bigge, placing a hand on her son¡¯s shoulder. She squeezed him just a little, so that he let go of his gobshite expression. ¡°As I said, there¡¯s drink and supper after our sit-in. We are humble folk. Do not hesitate to ask us anything.¡±


    After waiting until the peasants were gone, Thyra stood up. She held her stomach for a brief moment, remembering the gut punch from the stone. ¡°I want to speak to Nancia,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll tell Franque you want to speak.¡±

 Chapter 36 - Day Seventeen

    Chapter 36


    Day Seventeen ¨C Morning


    The red and white Moon Sisters were close to the Twin-Crescent that night, and the starlit sky was clearly visible. Franque¡¯s gait was unsteady and his head filled with pain from his left ear. His and Zaber¡¯s conversation on the previous evening was tainted by one of the brigands still being in critical condition. They had gained nothing from this alliance and felt that saving that savage was the reason for their failure. It had forced restraint on them. No matter how much taste for vengeance Franque had, he would not join an even crazier plan. The only thing they agreed on was to rest with these peasants and let them get their belongings. Allowing Thyra¡¯s magic to help them heal.


    Thyra had sung the Kiss of the White Sister under half the moon¡¯s influence for the entire night. She was tired and ready for sleep. Nancia had joined her for half the night, as she felt Thyra needed someone at her side among these strangers. She also wanted to witness magic and had no serious injuries. The blood on her arm had not been her own. A bunch of children had tried to come close, and many of their hosts listened in curiosity. Whispers of witchcraft wandered through the camp.


    Breg kept watch over his friend and beloved for quite a while. He dozed off a couple of times, but never for too long. For the first time, magic captivated him; seeing how Buron got visibly better, and Zaber¡¯s burned face peeling as if days had passed. The unreasonably tall man had never been a deep sleeper. He often woke up from unnatural noises around them ¨C or ghosts. But Zaber was just lying there, staring at the stars. The few times he moved, pain painted his face.


    None of the four friends, Zaber, Asher, Buron and Breg, had been doing too well. Not after all the things they had seen and done. Not after what the adults around had done. Each of them had their own way of soothing the ghosts. Buron drank, Breg dealt in pain and exhaustion, and Asher was simply too much of a bastard to care. They often joked about him sleeping the best, even though all of them knew that he had cold sweats. But Zaber, by far, was the worst among them.


    Torm had also noticed how trapped his mentor was in his own head, but did not have the strength or will to keep him company. Too used was he to this sleep cycle. Deep down, he feared waking him up every time he tried. The lingering danger of Zaber or himself getting hurt. The young man understood what the veterans were going through. He was visited by his parents¡¯ ghosts and their murderers for a while. But they had moved on, finding peace among the Stars. Torm had found peace. And he wished he knew what he did right that Zaber couldn¡¯t do.


    Deep down, the young man knew what the difference was. When he was haunted, there was someone waiting for him when he woke up. Someone to talk to about his parents and how hurt he was. This night was similar to those nights five years ago. Torm dreamed of death and being alone again, rolling around and murmuring words that his mentor heard but couldn¡¯t acknowledge.


    Chickens were roaming freely. A rooster, like Zaber¡¯s birthstar, filled the camp with life. Dry bread, water, and cabbage broth from the previous evening were prepared. Strictly rationed, favoring the children.


    ¡°I¡¯m done for,¡± yawned Thyra and stopped singing. Her voice gave in a couple of times and wasn¡¯t full in volume anymore. ¡°I need to sleep. Their scouts returned a while ago, I¡¯ll check on our belongings and get a piece of bread before I pass out.¡± She stood up, unsteady on her legs and rubbing her face. ¡°How are you all?¡±


    ¡°Much better,¡± uttered Buron, leaning on Breg. ¡°You¡¯re worth your weight in gold.¡± He smiled, ignored the calls for breakfast and rolled over to get some more rest.


    ¡°I¨C¡± Nancia opened her eyes, her thick black braids tangled up. She still wore the doublet with maille woven into the armpits. Patting the grass off her pantaloons, she rose to help Thyra keep her balance. The athletic woman struggled to find any Albinian words, intuitively saying a couple of words in her native tongue first. ¡°I go brother. Tell later,¡± she said slowly. Franque was easy to find, as his snore overshadowed anybody else.


    ¡°Torm?¡± asked Thyra, looking down at the men. ¡°Zaber?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Torm was barely awake, with unusual bags under his eyes for the young man. ¡°Me? I feel¨C¡± He rotated his feet and felt his face. ¡°Great. A bit stiff in the left ankle, but no pain. Face is¨C¡± Torm grunted. ¡°Rough.¡±


    ¡°Zaber?¡± Thyra tipped her toes. ¡°Zaber?¡± She gave his feet a little kick. ¡°I see your open eyes.¡±


    ¡°Your face looks better,¡± said Torm, stretching his limbs and joints. ¡°Come on, can¡¯t you at least try to close your eyes?¡±


    With her limited understanding of what folk ¨C foremost men ¨C were like, Thyra lost her patience. Her first impression of Zaber had been good, charitable, with a chivalrous goal. But the chivalrous ones were on the other side, and far from good. Not even her knowledge of medicine could help this man, only prayer could. At a lack for words, she just wandered away. If he wasn¡¯t speaking anymore, the pain was too much and he needed something to loosen his tongue.


    ¡°Torm¡¯s right,¡± said Breg, nodding at the young man. ¡°Get some shuteye. You¡¯re not in fighting shape.¡°


    ¡°The shattered ribs will take until the next full red,¡± said Buron. ¡°Last time her song cut the time in half.¡±


    ¡°Last one was full white, the sisters are always opposite. Her song¡¯s to the White Sister, so from now on it¡¯ll only get less effective.¡± Torm adjusted the blanket and stood up, looking at their hosts who handed out food. ¡°Please, man, we can¡¯t ride tomorrow. If you want to break into that mine, we¨C¡±


    ¡°How about y¡¯all go fuck yourselves.¡± Zaber¡¯s voice was raspy and quiet. His arm twitched, going for his face. There was no reaching it, only a clenched fist with white knuckles. Every other position than the one he was in raised the pain. ¡°Sagir doesn¡¯t have a dozen days or more. He doesn¡¯t even have five or less days. Every breath he takes in that mine, the poison will take from him.¡±


    ¡°Damned,¡± said Breg and walked over to Zaber, standing wide-legged over him. He leaned down and looked him in the eyes. When he straightened his beard as usual, he grabbed it with fists in front of his friend¡¯s face. ¡°You can be glad you¡¯re already broken.¡±


    ¡°Try me, bitch,¡± replied Zaber and matched the gaze. The length of it made Torm avoid the situation, walking away just a little further. But when both of them smiled, a load the size of a boulder dropped from his mind.


    ¡°Whatever the plan is, this¡¯ the last time,¡± said Breg and stepped aside. ¡°If we come close to losing again, I¡¯ll take Buron and you off the battlefield; by force.¡± He followed Torm, about to get something to eat for them. ¡°I ain¡¯t losing another friend.¡±


    ¡°We ain¡¯t failing,¡± said Zaber. ¡°I thought this over; a lot. I know what the spell¡¯s words are now.¡±


    ¡°Please rest, you¡¯re talking nonsense.¡± The apprentice returned to his mentor¡¯s side and fixed the woolen blanket that Breg offset with his feet. ¡°Thyra said it, you cannot learn magic that fast. You can¡¯t even breathe right now.¡±


    ¡°I know. I don¡¯t need her teachings anymore,¡± said the greasy and unkempt man. The heat in his mind and on his neck rose up as an unsettling smirk formed. ¡°Next time I sing these words, that bastard will burn.¡±


    ¡°You gotta be¨C¡± The young man¡¯s mouth stood wide open, brows raised high.


    ¡°Let him be,¡± interrupted Buron, lying on his side and watching delightedly. ¡°That¡¯s the kind of idiocy we love. Don¡¯t fight it, just enjoy. Breg and I¡¯ll handle him.¡±


    Torm sighed, remembering why he wanted to live with the man instead of going back to Hohendam. There was no lying to himself¡­ whatever plan this bum had, they would do it. He would follow him anywhere.


    Before any of them could go ahead, find rest or food, an angry voice shouted through the entire camp. The volume and pitch made the three veterans move on their own, as well as some of Franque¡¯s men. The chanting rhythm of Thyra¡¯s mezzo punished Zaber, as he nearly jolted up. A loud grunt kept him down though.


    ¡°You cheating, lying son of a¨C¡± Filled with vigor and rage, a young woman stomped her way towards her companions. Thyra fell to her knees, right next to the broken veteran, and held an empty flask next to his face, poking his cheeks. ¡°What is this?! What. Is. This?!¡±


    Nobody tried to hold her back, not even Torm. When he saw her hands, trembling in front of Zaber¡¯s chest, he had a hunch what this was about. And he bit his lip in anger too.


    There was no time to answer before the witch shoved another glass into the greasy and unkempt man¡¯s face. This one still had the brown-red tincture in it. ¡°I tell you what this is,¡± she yelled. ¡°The last one! There were half a dozen left; and this is the LAST one!¡±


    ¡°By the Stars, girl, calm down,¡± said Breg and put his arm between her and Zaber. Buron and Torm looked back and forth between the unreasonably tall man and Thyra. Not only was her height different, but their body shapes could not have been more different.


    ¡°What?¡± The rugged woman¡¯s lips opened and closed in befuddlement. ¡°What did you just call me? I¡¯m a grown wom¨C¡±


    ¡°It was us,¡± interjected Buron and got onto his feet as quickly as his knee let him. ¡°We gave it to him.¡± He placed a hand on Breg¡¯s shoulder to soothe him away from his instincts.


    ¡°I thought we were friends! How could you do this to me?!¡± Her pitch went up, without breaking, as tears ran over her cheeks. ¡°Me and my mother made these! We told you to stop!¡±


    ¡°Thyra¡­ listen¨C¡± Torm followed Buron¡¯s example and jumped to Zaber¡¯s side to keep him from getting up. He saw his mentor¡¯s teeth grinding, urging to do what he always did. When pressed, he went on the offensive. ¡°He was in pain. We are friends!¡± He pushed Zaber down on his back. Hard. Not to keep him from doing something stupid, but because he wasn¡¯t let in on it. ¡°But they are¨C¡± He glanced at Buron and Breg.


    ¡°Did you know about this?¡± She shoved the flask into Torm¡¯s face. ¡°Did all of you have a good laugh behind my back?!¡±


    ¡°No¨C¡± stuttered Torm, looking back and forth between the three veterans. ¡°Nobody told me either. But I know them. Please, they¡¯re¨C¡±


    ¡°Arseholes!¡± shouted Thyra. ¡°Damned, starforsaken, arseholes! They think they¡¯re better than me because they¡¯re bloody murderers who killed together and I¡¯m just a little girl from the woods. They don¡¯t respect anybody who¡¯s not like them, and they are bad and know it.¡±


    Crying on, she stood up. Torm tried to grab her as she walked away, but Thyra pushed her elbow into his torso. About to topple over, he felt Zaber¡¯s hand on his leg. His mentor shook his head, ordering him with his eyes to not follow her. The three men watched her as she headed straight for Nancia and Franque''s men. Thyra¡¯s cheeks were red when she turned around one last time.


    ¡°You better think of a good apology,¡± she said and held the last flask of poppy juice up before stowing it away. ¡°You need me to make this work. You owe me as much as Sagir!¡± Thyra showed her back, but turned around once more in one rotation. ¡°My mother died for you arseholes! She told you to stop, and you spit on her grave! She¡¯s dead!¡±


    Awkward moments became full breaths. If they hadn¡¯t been the talk of the camp before, they surely were now. Zaber and Buron closed their eyes in a futile attempt to get more rest.


    Only Breg seemed unimpressed and walked away with a wave. ¡°I ain¡¯t gone for long. Food first, then the horses.¡±


    Torm was about to follow, but was stopped by a ¡°wait,¡± from Zaber. The young man turned around, waiting for his mentor¡¯s eyes to open.


    ¡°I¨C¡± Zaber looked into the sky. His brows were narrowed, and he was so tense that the muscles on his chin were pressed out.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Torm came closer and squatted next to Zaber. ¡°You what?¡±


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    The greasy and unkempt man sighed. ¡°Can you scratch my chin?¡± he grunted. ¡°It¡¯s driving me crazy.¡±


    Torm sighed as well, shaking his head as he waited for more. ¡°Sure.¡±


    Next to the unreasonably tall man, Torm didn¡¯t feel too well. He felt drawn towards Thyra and Nancia, also standing in line for a warm bowl of soup. When he was about to head over to them, a heavy hand on his shoulder held him back.


    ¡°You¡¯re one of us now,¡± said Breg.


    Buron waited until he was alone with Zaber. He rolled around on his blanket and looked at his friend, leaning onto his hand. ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± said the bald man. ¡°She doesn¡¯t understand why, but she¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± grumbled Zaber. ¡°If only Asher was here.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re really missing Ash here.¡± Buron nodded. ¡°I love you two, so much, but we three alone¡­¡±


    ¡°I saw his blood,¡± said the broken veteran, closing his eyes. ¡°He¡¯s haunting me because I got him killed.¡±


    ¡°He haunts you because he loves you too.¡± Buron smiled, even though he knew that Zaber didn¡¯t see him. ¡°We¡¯re all going to haunt you. You are very hauntable.¡± The scrawny veteran rolled on his back and put his hands under his head as a pillow.


    Turning his head as much as he could without pain, Zaber glimpsed at his friend. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said curtly. ¡°We¡¯ll all be united in The Kraken one day. Rejoining Airich and all the other bastards.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me worry, you¡¯re not drunk enough to be so honest,¡± laughed Buron bittersweet. ¡°Breg and I talked this out already. He wanted to ditch the witch and shitbrat. One last stand, finally ending all of this.¡±


    ¡°Still have that promise to keep,¡± replied Zaber and looked back into the sky. ¡°After that, you two can live in peace together.¡±


    ¡°Not yet.¡± Buron also closed his eyes. ¡°Told you, talked him out of it.¡±


    Not enough time passed for the ghosts to settle into Zaber¡¯s dreams before his eyes sprung open again. He didn¡¯t know where or when he was ¨C how much he had slept or not. His body went up on its own, and the pain brought him back into reality. The voices around him were unfamiliar, except for one.


    ¡°Peasant son?¡± Franque¡¯s scratchy voice and dirty accent rang from the side. Two of his men braced him, as his legs were still shaky.


    With heavy breath, the dirty and unkempt man looked up, holding his ribs. He tried to lower himself, but that was just as bad as when he rose. ¡°What is it, paysan?¡± he replied, butchering that word.


    ¡°Le cyclope wants to talk,¡± said the highwayman. ¡°You too occup¨¦ with dying?¡±


    Buron had woken up and reached for Zaber to brace him too. ¡°Let¡¯s wait until I can give you some willow bark first,¡± said the bald man.


    He ground his teeth at first. But the infectious laughter of Franque, seeing him like this, made Zaber smirk. ¡°¡¯aight,¡± he said. ¡°Buron?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep you in staring position,¡± said the bald veteran. ¡°Don¡¯t overdo it.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± repeated Zaber. ¡°I¡¯m doing gorr¨C¡± A sharp exhale of pain interrupted himself. ¡°Good.¡±


    Franque and his men spoke a couple of Gal¨¢zian words while trying to get him next to Zaber. He looked drunk, while toppling to the side. The brigands¡¯ leader was a loud man, but he was even louder now.


    ¡°You need to parler into my good ear!¡± He saw Roda walking towards them and waved her over. She didn¡¯t bring her son, but Bigge, and another man and woman around their ages accompanied her. All of them were armed and wore the colors of mourning.


    Roda sat down in front of them and put a jug of beer with wooden cups in front of them. She mustered them from head to toe, their injuries, the weapons next to them, and the kind of scars they had. Bigge handed her a bowl with three boiled eggs, of which she cracked one and held the rest in front of Franque and Zaber.


    ¡°Want an egg?¡±


    ¡°How g¨¦n¨¦reux,¡± said Franque and missed a mug. Ludi stepped up to fill it with beer and hand it over. ¡°What do you want from us cripples?¡±


    ¡°Ne sois pas un connard,¡± rang a female voice from behind. Nancia, Thyra, Torm and Breg brought water, bread and cabbage soup. The woman-at-arms and the unreasonably tall man waited right behind Roda¡¯s followers.


    ¡°Whatever she said,¡± said Zaber, pushing through the pressure in his torso. ¡°But he¡¯s right. No need to butter us up, get right to the point.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± scoffed Roda. She pulled out her cleaver and laid it next to the beer, provoking a twitch in Breg. ¡°You folks are the bandits and outlaws. I¡¯m here in all honesty. No need for mistrust.¡± She peeled the shell off her egg and bit off half. ¡°Some of the men from our villages told me your armor is worth a lot.¡±


    ¡°Are you buying?¡± asked Torm, sitting down next to Zaber and aiding Buron. He remembered what Zaber said when they last spoke to peasants, and didn¡¯t wanna let him down. ¡°Or robbing us?¡±


    ¡°I bet we¡¯re losing if this was a robbery,¡± replied Roda. ¡°And that¡¯s why I¡¯m here. We¡¯re the same; on the run from the heels on our throats. I want to ask you to give us what we lack.¡±


    ¡°Quoi?¡± asked Franque extra loud while throwing the whole egg into his mouth. He chewed while speaking. ¡°For the right prix, we can lead you south the montagnes.¡± Laughing as loud and infectious as always, he leaned forward ¨C and would have fallen on his face if not for his men. ¡°But our noblesse are just as foutu as yours.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Roda wasted no time. Her posture was upright and her eye was sharp ¨C her bony stature melted away under her demeanor. ¡°We are sick of running. We want you to join us; make us strong. Give us the ability to fight back.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a fool, woman,¡± said Zaber soberly. Buron had asked with his eyes if he wanted that egg or beer, but was refused. ¡°Take it from me: A peasant is no soldier. Take the mountain rat¡¯s offer and find a new liege on the other side.¡±


    The one-eyed woman closed in on the broken veteran and pressed a mug into his hand. Their stares met and recognized each other. ¡°We¡¯ve made peace with the Stars. There¡¯s no going back,¡± she said. ¡°Please, help us.¡±


    Everyone was caught up in the intensity of the moment. Breg and Buron exchanged eyes, shaking their heads. The woman was no threat. Torm, Thyra and many of the gathering peasants swallowed in anticipation, where Nancia pricked up her ears and crossed her arms.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want our help,¡± uttered Zaber under pain. ¡°When your Sir Who-Cares finds the men he¡¯s looking for ¨C men like us ¨C the rumors will lead him to you. Your boy said you¡¯ve tried to recruit others. You¡¯ve already messed up.¡± He closed his eyes for a pause, leaning back to relieve his ribs. ¡°They¡¯ll all tell on you sooner or later. Not for lack of comradery, but out of fear. They¡¯ve always done so.¡±


    Thyra remembered that tone. She bit her lip, while looking at Torm who had never heard Zaber speak that soft. The folk around them waited for Roda to respond, but she waited for the broken veteran to continue. Only Franque acted indifferent, stretching and yawning.


    ¡°He ain¡¯t hiring good folk,¡± said Zaber. ¡°They¡¯ll burn and rape you. Beat, drown or cut off your limbs. Hanging will be viewed as mercy. The men your liege will find ain¡¯t human no more.¡±


    Breg and Buron looked at the ground, exchanging glances with each other and Zaber. Many averted their gazes, except Roda and the bandits.


    The one-eyed woman grabbed the former mercenary¡¯s hand, like that of a child. ¡°Are you done trying to scare me?¡± she asked. Several folk around them giggled, and Thyra snorted a short laugh that made Nancia¡¯s slashed eyebrow go up. ¡°Zaber was it? I see that you¡¯re trying to do me a favor, but you¡¯re not telling me anything new. We know what little humanity Sir Ludwald has.¡± She let go of his hand and her eye wandered through her fellow peasants. ¡°We¡¯re asking you for the strength that made you fight these knights and survive. Hurt them even,¡± she said and stood up. ¡°If you want to fight them again, you¡¯ll need an army. And an army is what I want us to be.¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯all are peasants,¡± replied Zaber raspy. ¡°And you are a fool.¡±


    ¡°And so were all of you once, weren¡¯t you?¡± Roda picked up her cleaver and stowed it back into her belt. ¡°We¡¯re¨C¡±


    ¡°Not me,¡± interjected Torm, smiling awkwardly. Zaber sighed and Buron smiled, with some of the peasants joining in.


    Roda looked at him stone-faced, until she nodded the young man¡¯s comment off. ¡°We¡¯re all commoners. My fellow men and I are tired of working fields we don¡¯t own. Herding cattle that¡¯ll be taken away on a whim. Paying for walls that keep us outside.¡± She squatted back in front of Franque, staring at them as she showed them her one green eye. ¡°The terror you¡¯ve described isn¡¯t new to us. We live it every day, only broken by our bonds. What I want you to do is to teach us how to keep our new freedom. What I want you to teach us is how to murder Sir Ludwald, like I murdered his son.¡±


    More and more peasants had arrived around the outlaws. Old and young folk alike, girls and boys, husbands and wives. None of them gave the impression that they were hearing these words for the first time. Nevertheless, all of them were still enthralled by them.


    ¡°You made your peace with the Stars, you said?¡± Zaber looked through their ranks where one group stood out to him. ¡°That¡¯s not your decision to make for your children.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± replied Roda and rose. ¡°But there¡¯s no going back. Ludwald won¡¯t forgive us for what I did, and we voted on the matter.¡±


    ¡°Je¨C¡± Nancia stepped next to Roda but halted. ¡°I will t¡¯entra?ner.¡± Her square jaw had been tense to a breaking point while listening to the hardships Zaber and Roda spoke of. Following them wasn¡¯t easy, but she got what this was about. And it reminded her of past times her brother promised her would never return.


    ¡°Quoi?¡± Franque¡¯s head snapped forward.


    He wasn¡¯t impressed with what Roda had to say, but his sister made his blood boil in an instant. While he flooded her with foreign words only the bandits understood, his face went from anger to confusion, back to anger. Lastly, he spat on the ground. Nancia wasn¡¯t shy of speaking as fast as her brother, aggressive and somewhat spiteful. At the end, while Franque was still speaking, she turned around. It was so fast that her flowing skirt, beneath the arming doublet, pushed everyone close to her to the side.


    ¡°Arr¨ºt, arr¨ºt!¡± ordered Franque to his men. He also looked at Breg, close-by to Nancia. ¡°Stop her!¡±


    Roda walked away from the outlaws. She turned her head around, seeking eye contact with the brigands¡¯ and veterans¡¯ leaders. ¡°Talk and think about it. We¡¯ll need to move tomorrow; I¡¯ll come eat supper with you,¡± she said. Bigge and the other two that initially came with her went ahead. ¡°Please don¡¯t let us wait. We can deal with disappointment, but don¡¯t play us for fools.¡±


    The peasants that stayed behind looked left and right. They glanced at each other and waited for something to happen. But more and more snuck away, feeling Breg¡¯s, Franque¡¯s and Zaber¡¯s aggressive eyes on them. The brigands stayed behind as well, as nobody felt in a position to stop Nancia. Only Thyra made a move after her and Roda, but stopped for one more moment.


    ¡°I¡¯m still angry at all of you,¡± she uttered. ¡°You shou¨C¡± Grabbing her chest, she bit her own lip. ¡°See you at supper.¡±


    ¡°Man,¡± sighed Torm and lowered Zaber, together with Buron. ¡°You messed up so hard this time.¡±


    ¡°Shut it, shitbrat.¡± Breg stood next to him and patted him on the back. ¡°We gotta unload our junk.¡±


    Buron giggled into the beer mug that he took off Zaber, emptying it in one go. He caught the unreasonably tall man off guard, and made Torm¡¯s face go pale.


    ¡°Unruly pute.¡± Franque spat in front of him. Remnants of his beer were all over his scarred, unshaven face.


    ¡°You gotta admit,¡± said Torm, while Breg walked away under the scrawny veteran¡¯s smirk. Zaber shifted his head slightly, now that he was able to rest again. ¡°That was some real Hanging Forest Hoodlums speech.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± uttered Zaber, already closing his eyes. He got angry at himself that he even asked.


    ¡°Quoi?¡± Franque looked at Zaber.


    ¡°You know, from the boo¨C¡± The young man was stopped by a giant hand dragging him away.


    ¡°How did you make it this far?¡± asked the unreasonably tall man. ¡°If you explain this to me, you ain¡¯t making it further.¡±

 Chapter 37 - Day Seventeen

    Chapter 37


    Day Seventeen ¨C Evening


    Ever since Thyra met Torm, Buron, Breg and Zaber, she has wondered how one became like them. But staying awake all night after their failure, seething at her own ineptitude, and being angry at herself, made her properly feel like shit. She slept all day after calming down. Nightmares interrupted her rest though, hearing her dying mother¡¯s last words over and over. She moaned in torment as her mother haunted her instead of them. Back in the bog, her mother¡¯s presence had soothed her as a child. Now Nancia took that place, watching over her as she lay down in Franque¡¯s side of the camp. She also heard Torm come over every now and then to ask about her.


    ¡°Hello, Fiore.¡± A voice reached Thyra in her half-awake state. ¡°You need to drink.¡±


    Thyra saw Asti through the narrow slits of her eyes. She felt worse than before sleeping, and Father Sun had already handed over his duties to his daughters. Without a word, she took the waterskin the bandit offered her as her mouth and throat were dry and sore.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Nancia?¡± she asked and nodded thankfully.


    ¡°She¡¯ll be right back.¡± Asti pointed through the camp so that the rugged woman could find Nancia. ¡°She¡¯s getting some pane and frutta,¡± he said while chewing on something.


    The athletic woman was still wearing her arming doublet with maille around the armpits. But beneath that, she had changed into a wide red-brown skirt, buttoned at her waist. Never had Thyra seen something so effortlessly beautiful, even with the dirt on it. It was way beyond what her mother and her could have made.


    ¡°Tu es r¨¦veill¨¦,¡± said Nancia delightedly. Her clothes flowed down with her, as she knelt next to Thyra, placing food in her lap.


    ¡°What?¡± Thyra wasn¡¯t fully there yet. She sat upright to spot everyone, but got distracted by Nancia handing her prunes. Torm was with Buron and Breg, feeding Zaber.


    ¡°She¡¯s glad you¡¯re awake,¡± said Asti in his own thick accent. ¡°It seems¨C¡±


    ¡°Tu n''es plus n¨¦cessaire,¡± interrupted Nancia. Her eyes guided him away.


    ¡°Bene.¡± The bandit held up his hands and walked away backwards. ¡°Later, fiore,¡± he winked.


    While Thyra rubbed her eyes and face, munching on dried fruit, Nancia waited carefully until Asti was out of hearing range. ¡°R?da veut parler soon.¡±


    ¡°She wants to¡­ speak?¡± asked Thyra unsure. ¡°Again?¡±


    ¡°Oui, yes,¡± repeated Nancia, after thinking for a bit.


    ¡°You still want to join her?¡± Thyra spoke slowly and as clearly as she could.


    Talking to her new friend took some time, but worked out well enough. Both chewed on a piece of bread while thinking. The rugged woman let her gaze wander, noticing how a small crowd had gathered around her. These villagers didn¡¯t look too different from the ones in the past; simple, yet well-made clothes. The older women all covered their heads, looking rather modest. When Thyra was gathering intel with Zaber and Torm, some women weren¡¯t as strict. Here though, quite a few were wearing the pants of their husbands, fathers and brothers. Far from many, but Roda was not the only one. Even more were armed, and everyone¡¯s fabrics were dyed in the color of mourning. Even the children that were flocking around Nancia and Thyra.


    ¡°Oui, je¨C,¡± Nancia stopped. ¡°I wish to. I parl¨¦ with mon fr¨¦re. He angered.¡±


    Thyra¡¯s eyes strolled around until she found Franque. ¡°Huh,¡± she uttered, thinking about the easiest way to speak to Nancia. ¡°Why?¡± The rugged woman mustered Nancia. Both of them looked calm right now.


    ¡°Piavi et Rovi ont ¨¦t¨¦ hurt,¡± said the athletic woman. ¡°Cinco is¨C¡± She fiddled around with her fingers while thinking. ¡°About dead.¡±


    ¡°No¨C¡± said Thyra fast. She grabbed her mouth to not overflow. That Cinco fella got treated by her and an older peasant man. Her singing had already stabilized him. Then the rugged woman just noticed how Nancia had freshly braided her hair. ¡°I mean: Why join them? Revenge?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± replied Nancia. ¡°Mon fr¨¦¡­ my brother¡¯s camarades vont bien. Mais je did not choisi this life. I not want. I am monstre¨C¡± Without any shame, she pointed at Franque, Zaber, and Breg ¨C the latter of them noticing begrudgingly. Then she looked at Roda and Thyra witnessed a flame igniting. ¡°Or her.¡±


    With hanging shoulders, Thyra sighed frustrated and burrowed her fingers in her face and hair. Her messed up hair was awaiting a good combing after sleep ¨C taming what little there was to tame. The longer she ran her fingers through her hair, the more her sigh became a groan. ¡°Why are all of you like that?¡±


    Nancia squeezed out a little laugh and folded her hands around those of Thyra. ¡°No ask.¡± She smiled


    ¡°Wow,¡± uttered Thyra before she also laughed. ¡°I always wonder if you really are his sister. But you are.¡±


    ¡°You dubiato?¡± The older of the two brothers came closer, stuffing his face with a piece of dry meat. ¡°They have the same mento e naso,¡± said Ludi and drew on his nose and chin with his free hand to lengthen it. ¡°Very pointy. To stab their enemies in the faccia.¡± His hair was freshly greased back and his thin beard spread out onto his neck. He and Asti had a strict grooming routine that was disrupted by their failure. Their beards grew out of control already.


    ¡°Abbiamo la bellezza di nostra madre,¡± said Nancia and threw a prune at Ludi. As the juggler he was, he caught it with ease and threw it into his mouth. The athletic woman then smiled at Thyra. ¡°From mother,¡± she repeated and waved over her face as if she was presenting fine art.


    The bandits exchanged more words that Thyra couldn¡¯t understand. But Ludi and Nancia sounded the same to the rugged woman¡¯s ears, so one of them had to be fluent in the other one¡¯s dialect.


    ¡°Mangia and get going,¡± said Ludi and mimicked shoving more food into his face. ¡°I¡¯m heading over to Zaber, we¡¯ve made our decisione.¡±


    ¡°Will Roda come over?¡± Thyra stood up after taking more bread out of Nancia¡¯s lap. She was able to see her¡­ ¡®friends?¡¯ better than before. Not all of them, but the young woman was sure that Torm, and maybe Buron, was her friend. She wasn¡¯t sure if she wanted to stay with Nancia and them yet. There was not enough time to think about it properly.


    ¡°No, we¡¯re heading over,¡± said Ludi. ¡°Presente our decision to everyone, not just her.¡±


    Thyra fell silent and grabbed her skirt. The heavy tone of Ludi¡¯s words assured her that she had to make a decision herself later. It was hard to believe that Franque would leave his sister behind, but he surely wasn¡¯t the heroic type. And Zaber was on a mission; lost. If Torm would take the offer and stay behind, maybe¡­


    Her time to refresh and chitchat with Nancia was over too soon. Everyone was on the move. Franque was braced by Ludi, and Zaber was more carried by Breg than walking on his own.


    ¡°Why?¡± asked the rugged woman when the greasy and unkempt man passed her. ¡°I¡¯m sure they will come over. Stay put and don¡¯t ruin the work of my voice,¡± she said as she followed them.


    ¡°Woman¡­¡± grunted Breg and changed nothing. Thyra didn¡¯t try to stop him, and neither could she.


    ¡°Franque¡¯s right,¡± uttered Zaber in pain. ¡°We gotta stand tall for our answer. I promise you¨C¡± He halted and grabbed his ribs before squeezing out more words. ¡°I¡¯ll make good on you. You¡¯ve seen what I do for my promises.¡±


    ¡°Zaber,¡± grunted Thyra just like Breg before. ¡°I asked for an apology, not a promise to hurt yourself even more.¡± She felt Torm¡¯s eyes, as he nodded along. A smile formed, reluctantly, as she stopped walking behind them and went next to them. ¡°Alright, have it your way, arsehole. I¡¯ll go back to singing right after this.¡±


    Today had been the first really warm day of the year, and Thyra had slept through it. The birds and bugs were becoming comfortable, as were many of the brigands and Buron. Asti and Ludi only wore their sheep¡¯s hide vests with no shoes and their chausses rolled up. Buron and Franque went bare-chested, with the latter¡¯s belly being just as hairy as his chest. The only one who kept it civil was Torm, getting rid of his leather jerkin and nothing else. The giant wore his gambeson drenched, and Zaber was forced to go in his linen undershirt and braies.


    If the weather kept that way, Thyra thought of getting down to her undergarments too. Back in the bog, she and her mother might have even gone all-skin in summer. When it was just her mother, the animals and Skratty. Among the civilized folk that gathered next to the wagons, this was not an option anymore. The peasants made room for the outlaws and Thyra fell on her bottom right next to Nancia. They were still followed by a couple of children, but an old man was the first who stood up to greet them.


    ¡°Please,¡± he said and bowed his head. His gait was steady, unlike his hands. With sunken cheeks and no teeth nor hair, his voice was more of a whisper. ¡°Take care of us and help little rowdy Roda.¡±


    A cackle went through the brigands and Buron¡¯s eyes squinted with a smirk. ¡°Little rowdy Roda?¡± He looked over to the one-eyed woman, whose face wasn¡¯t moving. Torm restrained himself from doing the same.


    ¡°Sit down, pa,¡± said Bigge and left Roda¡¯s side to escort the elderly man back to his spot. ¡°You voted for Roda, me, Attel and Havel to be in charge. Please don¡¯t make us look bad before we get started.¡± The man that looked like an underfed ox laughed as he made sure that his father was well seated.


    Narrowing her one eye, Roda whispered something into her son¡¯s ear. He sat right behind her and needlessly rolled to the side over his shoulder. The whisper passed to another kid, forming a chain.


    ¡°Are you¨C¡± A young girl in a group of children had snuck up on Thyra and pulled on her skirt for attention. Nancia looked back once, but focused forward right afterwards. ¡°Are you a witch?¡± whispered the wide-eyed girl.


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    ¡°Will you cook us into a stew?¡± asked a boy while slowly walking backwards.


    Thyra was taught to never admit or show what or who she was. But her mother couldn¡¯t foresee the mess the young woman was in right now. Her heart raced while thinking of an answer. The kids were awe-struck and fearful at the same time. And Thyra didn¡¯t want anyone to be scared of her.


    ¡°I¨C¡± stammered the witch. Her head went back and forth between the circle of adults and the bunch of children. ¡°I am¨C¡±


    ¡°Foutre le camp!¡± Nancia snapped around and swatted at them with one hand. The kids scrammed in all directions, screaming comically loud. None of the adults reacted to it with much thought, only glimpsing at them.


    ¡°That was harsh,¡± said Thyra, giggling a little at Nancia¡¯s angry face.


    ¡°Les enfants sont nuls,¡± uttered Nancia and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Even her cheeks puffed up.


    With everything that had happened so far, the woman-at-arms had not looked like that to Thyra. ¡°What?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Children,¡± repeated Nancia in her heavy accent. ¡°Hate.¡±


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t let us wait any longer,¡± said Roda and clapped loud enough for everyone to notice. Her eye centered on Zaber and Franque, who sat on the other side of the circle. ¡°What¡¯s your answer? Only one of you¨C¡± Much to her displeasure, she was interrupted.


    ¡°I could never¨C¡± said Franque as loud as always. His head was slightly tilted, so that his good ear was better aligned with Roda. All his bandits, except his sister, sat behind him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll start,¡± said Zaber and put a hand in front of Franque¡¯s chest. His jaw muscles tensed as he ground his teeth. He inhaled deeply. ¡°We¡¯ll do it.¡±


    A gasp went through the peasants and Nancia smirked victoriously at her brother. Thyra¡¯s eyes shifted around, befuddled. She stopped blinking and breathing for a moment.


    ¡°We got all the knowledge and skills you need. And you have none,¡± continued Zaber, reaching for his chin. ¡°But if we do this, we do it by our rules. There are a number of conditions you have to agree to before we have a deal.¡±


    Bigge wiped his half-bald head before leaning forward. ¡°What are they?¡± he asked leery, before he was pulled towards Roda by his sleeve. They exchanged unheard words before they nodded at each other.


    ¡°What my good-brother wanted to say is thank you.¡± Roda¡¯s gaze made everyone nod and bow. The other two that were voted to be in charge also whispered with each other. The man was at the end of his thirties and as tall as he was lanky. The woman was among the oldest around, but got herself some pantaloons and free-flowing hair. She pinched Bigge from behind, forcing him to smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said the man that¡¯s built like an ox. ¡°We really are grateful.¡±


    Zaber had Buron and Torm to his left, and Breg in his back. The veterans and brigands were a collection of battle scars. ¡°We¡¯ve been on the other side of revolting commonfolk like you,¡± said Zaber. ¡°We¡¯ve seen how eight hundred men-at-arms crushed several thousands. Your weapons ain¡¯t for war and you have no armor.¡± The greasy and unkempt man¡¯s body moved on its own, pointing at their knives and axes. The pain held him back from patting his own body where good armor should be and a grunt stopped his speech for a while. ¡°Your Sir Ludwald will show up with folk like us. How many able-bodied men have you?¡±


    ¡°251,¡± said Roda without hesitation. ¡°75 from Penram, 86 from Bromwich and an even 90 from Luphton. 131 women and 120 men.¡±


    ¡°Will the women fight?¡± Zaber¡¯s stare wandered through their ranks, spotting the awkward ones.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Roda looked at Nancia and Thyra. One nodded with a smirk, the other smiled as awkward as some women around her. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to have a problem with that.¡±


    ¡°Opposite even,¡± said Zaber. He had folded his hands and rubbed the scar on the back of his hand. ¡°You¡¯ll need as many feet on the battlefield as you have. How many are able-bodied?¡±


    ¡°Ten too old, forty too small.¡±


    ¡°If I see anyone under sixteen even close to the training grounds or battlefield, I¡¯ll hurt that child and its parents.¡± Zaber¡¯s stare intensified and the rasp returned into his voice. The pain was overshadowed by the heat in his neck. Breg behind him enhanced the statement even further with nothing but a nod and the clench of a fist.


    ¡°That means we got 85 which are too small.¡± Roda¡¯s nose wrinkled as her eye met Zaber¡¯s stare. ¡°You said we need as many as possible.¡±


    ¡°No negotiations around that,¡± said Zaber and grabbed the scar on the back of his hand. ¡°We do not train children.¡±


    An infectious laughter broke into the circle of peasants. ¡°I tried,¡± said Franque, shrugging. ¡°There¡¯s no discussion with Airich¡¯s brats.¡±


    A murmur rippled through the peasants. Tales of war and lies of heroism spread far and wide, and every corner of Albion knew about the legends. That name was known to everyone. Asher had known and used that plenty in the past. Gladly, Franque agreed to play the part that Zaber wasn¡¯t able to do himself.


    ¡°I am fifteen and I want to fight.¡± Roda¡¯s son stood up in anger. He lunged into the middle, raising both fists. ¡°They took my father. I have a right to avenge him.¡±


    ¡°Boy,¡± grizzled Breg. ¡°Sit. Your arse. Down.¡±


    ¡°Do not speak to my son like this,¡± said Roda, reserved, without flinching. ¡°Please Telf, sit.¡± She patted the ground beside her, inviting him to sit.


    Telf complied. ¡°What about him?¡± He pointed at Torm. They had equally ridiculous facial hair. The apprentice¡¯s was further ruined by diving onto the ground a day ago.


    ¡°He¡¯s seventeen,¡± replied Zaber, and his face distorted into a taunting smirk. ¡°But if you can beat him, Telf, I¡¯ll make an exception. Any kid who can do it one on one.¡±


    Caught off guard, Torm¡¯s head turned towards Zaber with wide eyes. He shrugged at Telf, and smiled like an idiot.


    ¡°Any more requirements?¡± asked Roda dryly. She placed a hand on Telf¡¯s hand and pushed it into his lap, even though he sat on her blind side.


    ¡°Trust.¡± The broken veteran would be equally dry, if it weren¡¯t for his grinding teeth. Buron shifted closer towards him and lent him an arm. ¡°Don¡¯t obey us, trust us.¡±


    ¡°Granted. It¡¯s not like we have another choice.¡± said the one-eyed woman and tightened the knot of her hair. ¡°Down to business: What made you bunch of robbers and marauders really attack that convoy full of convicts?¡±


    ¡°Tr¨¦sor,¡± said Franque and rubbed his hands together with a smirk that became rather serious. ¡°But now it¡¯s for venger. You infect¨¦ my s?ur with your poison, and she gets everything she demande.¡±


    Roda closed her eye and repeated the brigand¡¯s words silently. ¡°I am sorry,¡± she said. ¡°I can barely understand you. I tried talking to your¨C¡± She looked at Nancia. ¡°Wife? Sister? Its a little better with you.¡±


    ¡°Can you understand them better?¡± Torm pointed at Ludi, Asti and the rest of Franque¡¯s men. ¡°He speaks their dialect too, and they¡¯re from south of this border. Franque and Nancia are from northwest of here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve only seen two before, and they all sound the same,¡± said Roda, shaking her head. She sought out a couple of her fellow villagers. ¡°Three of our men have been levied, the rest have never left Elbia, let alone the fief.¡±


    ¡°Rat-king here is on your side,¡± said Zaber and Franque took the name with pride. ¡°His sister shares your taste for blood, or whatever. I don¡¯t care why, but she¡¯s a strong motherfucker.¡±


    Some smiled and some, on the older side, clenched their chests at Zaber¡¯s words. Nancia¡¯s unfazed visage turned confused for the first time and she leaned over to Thyra. ¡°A-t-il¨C¡± She stopped. ¡°He say I fuck my maman?¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡± Thyra halted as well. ¡°No? He¡­ later?¡± She was about to snort a laughter, but kept it together when Nancia nodded.


    ¡°Now let me propose our plan.¡± Zaber leaned against Buron, and he and Franque exchanged nods. ¡°You need numbers, no matter what; every advantage you can get. Franque was after the coin on that transport, but I am after a friend that¡¯s about to rot in prison,¡± said the greasy and unkempt man, scratching the scar on his jaw no matter the pain of moving his arm up. ¡°That¡¯s what we set out to do, and we can only join you if we succeed. If we seize the moment and attack the prison in five days ¨C on fire festival ¨C I promise you can take the whole damned thing. Hundreds or even thousands wait for their death inside. If even a fraction of them join you, your chances of survival will be tenfold.¡±


    Bigge shook his head and wiped over his head, keeping his remaining hair in place. ¡°You tell us that we should hastily attack a fort full of criminals? Instead of preparing to fight the man who¡¯s after us?¡± He turned around, mustered everyone¡¯s reaction and shook his head even more. ¡°We can¡¯t read or write well, but we¡¯re no fools.¡±


    ¡°No, Bigge,¡± said Roda, running her fingers along her chin in thought. ¡°No. We win or we lose. He¡¯s right, we have no swords, no polearms, no armor. Whatever we do, we might be killed. And¨C¡± She grabbed the cleaver on her belt, just to feel its hilt. ¡°I¡¯d like to free more poor folk like us. Maybe murderers and thieves are exactly what we need.¡±


    ¡°We do the heavy lifting,¡± said Zaber, slouching forward. ¡°What made the men we crushed fail was that they tried to fight like us. We ain¡¯t doing that; you¡¯ll be trained to your strengths.¡±


    With trembling lips, Thyra couldn¡¯t believe what she¡¯s been listening to. She turned to Nancia. ¡°Isn¡¯t he insa¨C¡± The rugged woman stopped when she saw the ember in Nancia¡¯s eyes. There was nothing but a long sigh left in her. It was hard to contain herself from jumping up and yelling at Zaber, who was about to gamble all their lives away for someone Thyra has never met. Her mind went back to the bog and for the first time, she felt regret itching her heart.


    ¡°Thank you, a lot.¡± Roda rose and patted the grass off her legs. The villagers¡¯ eyes followed her every move. ¡°We need to talk this over. I¡¯ll visit you right after we¡¯re done.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± nodded Zaber. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± The veteran¡¯s friends stood up, with Buron bracing him and Breg putting him on his feet. The highwaymen¡¯s leader got similar help. But when Nancia arrived, his sister took the burden with a one-armed hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.


    Thyra waved at Nancia, and sprinted after her four companions. Words flooded out of her. ¡°Five days?¡± She squeezed herself between Zaber and Torm, who stepped aside with raised hands. ¡°At Fire Festival? Have you learned nothing? You can¡¯t sing for your life, this is crazy! These folk are desperate and you¡¯re going to sacrifice them? That is not fair! I¨C¡±


    There was no reply until they reached their belongings and Zaber had to be bedded down. The rugged woman tried to say more, but it was too hectic and she felt ignored. After Torm sat down, she fell on her bottom right next to him. Zaber had closed his eyes and his entire body cramped together while holding his ribs.


    ¡°Please, you can¡¯t fight like them. You¡¯re not like them,¡± uttered Thyra and rolled up the broken veteran¡¯s tunic to take a look at his torso. ¡°You can¡¯t sing, you can¡¯t spell, you¡¯re¨C¡±


    ¡°A peasant¡¯s son?¡± said Zaber through his teeth. ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± he uttered. ¡°I¡¯m something else. And that¡¯s why you¡¯re right; I ain¡¯t fighting like them anymore. I don¡¯t need your lessons either, Thyra. I¡¯ll do what I do best.¡±

 Chapter 38 - Day Zero

    Chapter 38


    Day Zero ¨C Morning


    A thick fog hovered over the entire valley, withholding Father Sun¡¯s embrace. Spring would soon arrive, but Gothar and Telf could still see their own breath. Father and son were inspecting and preparing the tools for the day in the pigpen that stood next to their home. None of the handles were rotted or had gnaw marks. The swine were doing what they did best: Nothing. They were huddled together on hay, dirt and dung. Soon enough, the boy would have to gather this rich manure. It was the Constellation of Ram that dictated a peasant¡¯s life right now, before the soil would soon freeze again.


    ¡°Pa~?¡± yawned the boy. ¡°This needs a new one.¡± Telf held up a dungfork and bent its handle. A nasty creak sounded aloud.


    ¡°The spares are under your gramp¡¯s bed,¡± replied Gothar. He was at the end of his forties, thin and tired. His cheeks and eyes were more sunken than usual. The last winters had eroded the youthful charm he had retained for so long. A head full with hair was the only thing that was left, and the bite scars on his hands itched more with each day. ¡°Son, you look tired,¡± said Gothar with a teasing smirk. ¡°Did you meet with Senna after dark again?¡±


    Telf sighed, and took off his coif to wipe the crust out of his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s not like that.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t fool me,¡± said Gothar while he watched the swine. One of the sows was pregnant, which made the older man say a silent prayer towards the sky. ¡°You should get her a Love Tree for Fire Festival. I can help you find the best one.¡± He pulled off his well-made leather cap that was adorned with a button with a May Tree and the numeral III on it. ¡°Let¡¯s pray to get many piglets this year, with just the five left.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get one, but you won¡¯t be involved.¡± The son walked up to his father and slapped him on the shoulder. Gothar was a rather short man, and Telf was already outgrowing him. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna hear you judging my tree choices the whole time,¡± he said. ¡°And ma doesn¡¯t wanna either.¡±


    ¡°Your loss, the other men and I are getting the Maytree after the plough.¡± Gothar returned the slap on his son¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You know, I am the uncontested three tim¨C¡±


    ¡°Yea, yea, you are the tree champion, I know. Everybody knows,¡± laughed the boy. ¡°I also know you were the chasing-every-skirt-and-sneaking-out-champion. I am not a child anymore, pa. Folk talk to me.¡±


    Gothar wiggled his shoulders and pulled his gugel into place. ¡°And what did they tell you about me?¡± He donned an unfatherly smirk.


    Groaning in disgust, Telf walked away from his father. ¡°That you have no damned business telling me who and when to meet.¡±


    The father knocked on his son¡¯s head. His scarred knuckles sounded a wooden ¡®clop¡¯ on the young skull, messing up the coif on top of the dark hair he shared with both his parents. ¡°Language, son,¡± said Gothar half-seriously. ¡°And you are damned right. Your ma and I told you that we understand. You are young and full of feelings. But you¡¯ll not bring the Auror¡¯s shame into our household.¡± He looked Telf in the eye and slapped him against his shoulder once more. ¡°Remember: Hands stuff only.¡±


    ¡°Pa!¡± shouted the boy and fixed his coif. ¡°I am not a sinner, and neither is Senna!¡±


    ¡°Yea, yea, and neither was I,¡± said Gothar. ¡°You¡¯ll wait until marriage, and we¡¯re not approving it until you¡¯re old enough. The village needs to recover, and we can¡¯t afford another mouth.¡± With each word, the man¡¯s smirk was dying, until he looked at the pregnant sow again ¨C away from his son.


    ¡°I know, pa,¡± replied Telf and hugged his father. ¡°I know.¡±


    Their breaths went past each other¡¯s necks on this cold winter morning, but they felt warmth from each other. While the swine were as lazy as ever, a bunch of noise came from outside their pen. Gothar gave his son three hoes before the pair headed out.


    ¡°Go ahead, I¡¯ll get you ma.¡± The father pointed through the village, following an uphill path along a creek. ¡°When you see your gramp, tell him he¡¯s not going with us into the fields. He can barely get up the ladder these days. He¡¯s on toddler duty with the rest.¡±


    ¡°Will do,¡± nodded the boy and shouldered the tools.


    The pigsty was attached three or even five generations later to the house of Gothar¡¯s forefathers. Both half-timbered with a rocky base of brown wattle and daub, and a thatched roof. The colors were different from each other, as was the wood; but it worked well enough together.


    Nobody had the need for a lock in a hamlet like this. A wooden latch was enough to keep the pigs inside, and wild animals or the wind out. Every entrance had one step to keep the water out. When the spring and summer finally arrived, it was an ideal place to sit and watch one¡¯s neighbors. The big room had a fireplace in the middle of it, with many chests and cupboards on the walls to keep the pests away from what¡¯s important. A long table and two benches, made from stumps and one long log, still had cutlery, cups and bowls on it. The tablecloth, which was adorned with stitchery of Father Sun and the Moon Sisters, had many stains on it.


    An easy to access second room, divided by a basketwork wall, didn¡¯t even make up a third of the main room. The family¡¯s butchery and workshop were there, with just two stools, plenty of knives, hooks and a smoker. One big jar of salt was likely the most valuable possession of this household. Each room had one big window on each wall.


    The morning fog only let in dim light. Gothar grunted and groaned to make himself heard, when he climbed up the ladder in a corner of the big room. A spacious attic resided above, filled with hay, chests and one long bed for many folk. Even though everything creaked, he coughed loudly before he stepped onto the planks.


    ¡°Morning, sugar beet,¡± said Gothar when he sat on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on the body under a blanket.


    ¡°I¡¯m awake,¡± mumbled Roda. She didn¡¯t move, with her back towards him and her head buried into the straw mattress.


    ¡°I know.¡± He leaned against her and let his hand wander upward from her hip, wrapping his arms around her. ¡°Work¡¯s waiting. I¡¯ve sent Telf ahead to stop my father from picking up a hoe or worse.¡±


    After a long-winded sigh, the woman turned around and leaned into the embrace. Gothar looked into the beautiful green eyes of his wife, who nestled her forehead against his. ¡°I dreamed of our babies again,¡± said Roda. ¡°I¡¯ve been running around all the villages, the keep and the mountains. Every time I thought I found them, that quack the Auror sent told me they¡¯re somewhere else. I didn¡¯t see them once.¡±


    ¡°He couldn¡¯t do much,¡± said Gothar and rubbed her shoulders. ¡°Isen and Isar are with Ronna and Lim now. We¡¯ll be reunited among the Stars.¡±


    Roda rose slowly. The blanket slipped from her naked body as she tied her hair into a bun. Shaped by strict rationing, her ribs and cheek bones were hard to miss. ¡°We still have Telf,¡± she said, as she searched for her headscarf under the blanket.


    ¡°He¡¯s strong, and he¡¯s healthy.¡± Gothar opened a chest next to the bed and handed Roda a simple red-brown dress with a woolen mantle. ¡°Just like his mother.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t do our son dirty like this,¡± replied Roda while dressing up. ¡°He takes way more after you. He snuck out at night to see Senna again.¡±


    ¡°I know, we talked,¡± sighed the husband and stood up. ¡°We need to get to work. What do you think about huddling up and taking a nap together when we¡¯re done?¡±


    Roda also stood up and gave her man a brief kiss on the lips before walking away. ¡°I love you.¡±


    Holding onto the tail of his wife¡¯s dress, Gothar smiled knowingly and followed her. ¡°I love you too, sugar beet,¡± he said. ¡°I wish you would smile again.¡±


    Replying with a, ¡°hrmph¡± so quiet that it might not have been there at all, Roda put on the pins and fibulas that kept her clothes together. Their entire family wore the same shoes from soft leather, and wraps around their shins. Everyone in Penram wore these, either knee high or around the ankles. A family one village over made them.


    Roda and Gothar climbed down the ladder and headed outside. Under the fogged-over sun, they followed the path next to the stream that was no less than two yards wide. Fifteen houses made up the hamlet that went slightly uphill. None stood out from the other, as all of them were roughly the same size and materials. Here and there, a small barn or shack for storage and firewood broke the pattern, as did the hencoops that belonged to nobody. The chickens roamed freely around the whole area.


    Penram had been muddy for days, yet everyone of working age had gathered around the water mill in the center. Entirely built from stone, with an adjacent tannery, the village¡¯s beer casks from St. Gellen were kept in it as well. As every year, the fields awaited their first ploughage and needed to be fertilized. Such was a peasant¡¯s duty to their liege.


    ¡°There you are, lil¡¯ brother,¡± said a stout, half-bald man, delightedly. He walked up to Gothar with his arms spread wide. ¡°Junior and Telf are getting pa out of the way. We¡¯re only missing Losse with kith and kin, then we can go.¡±


    Waiting for the brothers to finish their greeting, Roda got herself a hug as well. ¡°How are you today, Bigge?¡± she whispered into his ear. ¡°And where¡¯s my niece? Where¡¯s my Bina?¡± After giving her brother-in-law a peck on the cheek, she looked around.


    Bigge got pushed to the side so that Roda could embrace his daughter for much longer. ¡°The nights are cold,¡± said the older man and pulled the hood of his gugel up as a joke. His eyes, however, wandered to the ground. ¡°But I¡¯m good.¡±


    ¡°Aaaunty,¡± yammered Bina with an awkward smile and closed eyes. ¡°It¡¯s alright, really.¡±


    ¡°Damned tatzelwyrm snatched some more chickens last night,¡± said Bigge, exhausted. He squinted up the mountain peaks, as if searching for it through the fog.


    ¡°Even more?¡± asked Roda and Gothar in unison. The pair looked at each other, as the woman let go of her niece.


    ¡°You sure they¡¯re not just sitting under the houses or hiding where only the Stars can find them?¡± Gothar joined his brother in squinting for the tatzelwyrm.


    ¡°I counted them on the yester and today. I¡¯ll count them in the morrow, but I am sure they¡¯re gone,¡± said another man from the group. He was around Bigge¡¯s age and visibly bothered by Gothar counting the chickens as he saw them. ¡°C¡¯mon man,¡± he sighed. ¡°Gothar, I can count.¡±


    ¡°You sure can count, Vils.¡± Gothar stopped, walking up to his fellow villager. He slapped him on the shoulder with a smirk. ¡°Remind me, what comes after ninety-one again?¡±


    ¡°Fuck you, Gothar,¡± laughed Vils. ¡°That was twenty years ago, by the Kraken!¡±


    Both men laughed together, until Vils was struck from behind. ¡°Language!¡± yelled his wife. ¡°We have enough bad luck as it is, you don¡¯t need to invoke the Kraken.¡±


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Damned Ludwald could get his tinned arse down here and deal with the wyrm,¡± grumbled Roda. Her sharp eyes were focused on the closest chicken, pecking the wet grass. ¡°Piece of shit.¡±


    ¡°Roda!¡± The other woman put her hands on her mouth with widened eyes. ¡°I just told the knuckleheads to not curse.¡± She clenched her tan garments, surprised, and stepped away from the men.


    ¡°I¡¯m not invoking the Kraken, but that useless arse,¡± said Roda, her eyes shifting away from the peaks and towards the vague shadows of a stone block below them. ¡°Every time we tell him about it, he¨C¡±


    Half the village, led by Gothar, fell into a chant. ¡°The tatzelwyrm has been slain by my ancestor, Sir Luphert the Brave. Ever since, it hasn¡¯t been seen on my holdings. Do you think my dear forefather a liar, peasant?¡± Everyone had a good laugh, no matter how frail or haggard they were.


    ¡°What¡¯s up, we talking shit about Ludwald?¡± said a voice from behind them.


    ¡°Losse!¡± The village¡¯s men yelled when the forty year old man with the lazy eye arrived.


    ¡°Finally, where¡¯s your woman?¡± asked Roda.


    ¡°Will be here in a breath,¡± replied Losse, shouldering a heavy hoe. ¡°Let¡¯s begin.¡±


    ¡°Great; but first¡­¡± Bigge turned towards the gathering and waved his arms around to gain everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°As y¡¯all know, seeds for the summer are low! Even with rationing, we used up two-twentieth,¡± yelled the man that was built like an underfed ox. ¡°But the good news is: Less work for the next two days!¡± He laughed, but nobody else did.


    ¡°We got the miller¡¯s horse and our two oxen, who failed to get one of the cows pregnant.¡± Gothar rushed to Bigge¡¯s side. ¡°That means she can work for her food, like we do,¡± he joked with more success than his older brother. ¡°Four ploughs total, so me, Bigge, Losse, and¨C¡± He looked around and grabbed the closest man to him. ¡°Vils here will steer the animals and get four acres done today. In the morrow, four others will have it easy. For the rest, please make groups of eight hoes per acre. If any of you old fellas don¡¯t feel too well, please stay back and help the kids shovel dung. Don¡¯t get impatient with them or the wheelbarrows!¡±


    ¡°Hooold.¡± A dramatic tenor sliced through Gothar¡¯s speech. From behind the last barn, three men rode into Penram. The villagers made room for them to reach the watermill, but a couple were nearly toppled over.


    A well-built man in his twenties led the charge on a jet black steed with a white diamond on its forehead. A clean, new, blue arming doublet with bronze buttons made his buff chest stand out. His breeches, gloves and boots were all made from the same fine leather. Before even speaking, he fixed his red-brown hair that got messed up by the wind as he stopped between the peasants. He wore his ancestors¡¯ coat of arms above his heart. A fibula of a heater shield, framed black with an uppointing green triangle representing the mountains. Three yellow triangles faced down. They were meant to be Luphton, Penram and Bromwich, flanking each other, and a black spear in the center.


    ¡°What an honor to be blessed with your presence, Sir Aurick.¡± Roda was the first to cast off the wave of confusion among the commonfolk. ¡°What is it that brings you here, young lord?¡± She bowed her head low, as everyone around her did.


    The knight had waited for this gesture. ¡°Greetings,¡± he said and unmounted. The two men that arrived with him wore longswords of good quality, multi-colored gambesons and properly groomed beards. ¡°Me and my father¡¯s men are thirsty.¡± Aurick looked at the mill, and through the crowd of peasants. ¡°How about you offer us some of that good St. Gellen¡¯s brew?¡±


    ¡°We would like nothing better than that,¡± replied Gothar, seeking help among his surroundings until Bigge walked away. ¡°How else can we be of service, or is that all?¡± His voice trembled. The good folk of Penram knew their liege¡¯s second son. He¡¯s always been a hothead whose mood swung left and right with the wind. But ever since he came back from the Eagle Society, a knightly order he squired in, he had been worse. Nobody knew what it was that happened to him when they were send to help stop border raids from the Yesilians. But they made sure not to get on his nerves.


    ¡°Are you trying to get rid of me?¡± The knight smirked. He built himself up in front of the short peasant, even though he wasn¡¯t especially tall himself. ¡°Gonther was it?¡± He patted Gothar on the shoulder.


    ¡°Gothar, Sir Aurick.¡± He glimpsed at his wife and her boiling eyes. ¡°It¡¯s just that we were about to head into the fields. It¡¯s the sixth of Ram, the soil¡¯s unfrozen for now, and rain will come soon enough,¡± he said, trying his hardest to not sound too smart. ¡°We need to make good harvest for your father, young lord.¡±


    Bigge¡¯s stubby legs carried his stout body as swiftly as they could. All while trying to keep a brimming beer mug from spilling. Other villagers did the same for the two men that came with Sir Aurick, still mounted.


    The knight took Bigge¡¯s offering without so much as looking at him. He hadn¡¯t looked at any peasant except Gothar so far. ¡°About that,¡± said the young lord, took a sip, and wiped the foam off his lips on his sleeve. ¡°My dear lord father has ordered me to tell his subjects that my beloved mother, the Dame Rosenhild, is in need of spindles for spring.¡± He pushed the mug back into Bigge¡¯s hand, spilling some of it over the man¡¯s chest. ¡°Thusly:¡± Aurick¡¯s voice rose, attempting to sound more regal. ¡°You are tasked with gathering appropriate snails and greenery to make them fat. The village that gathers the most will be rewarded by my dear lord father with¨C¡±


    ¡°Are you f¨C¡± Roda was stopped by Gothar¡¯s hands on her chest and shoulders, pushing her behind himself.


    ¡°Young lord, I must insist,¡± interrupted the short peasant. ¡°We may only have two days to plough the fields and fertilize them. I am sure your beloved mother, the Dame Rosenhild, will understand that we¨C¡±


    Sir Aurick¡¯s stance shifted as quickly as his fists clenched. His rage was as feeble, his gaze shifting from Roda to Gothar. ¡°You insolent¨C¡± yelled Aurick, when his knuckles connected with the peasant¡¯s nose. Gothar stumbling backwards into his wife did not stop the knight¡¯s fists though. ¡°Little¨C¡± He hit again. ¡°Shit!¡±


    The two lackeys unhorsed as quick as they could, but were blocked by the villagers. Some flocked towards what happened, some backed away, many screamed or gasped. A struggle between their desire to help Gothar and the fear of making it worse went through Penram.


    Roda¡¯s face wrinkled with anger, her eyes focused on her husband. Trying to drag the young lord away, all her hands found was the fibula on his chest; their family crest. She ripped it away, as more peasants followed her example. Soon enough, the footmen of their liege had forced themselves through the crowd and between the knight and Gothar.


    ¡°Sir Aurick! Young lord!¡± yelled the retainers.


    The young nobleman¡¯s arms could not reach the peasant anymore, but his rage persisted. He looked down, inspecting his clenched fists, until he noticed a tear on his chest. ¡°You harlot,¡± he groaned. ¡°Did I allow you to lay hands on me?!¡± He raised his fists again, glanced at Roda who was still holding the palm-sized shield.


    ¡°Pa!¡± yelled Telf from afar. Instinctively, Roda¡¯s eyes sought out her approaching son. Too late did she notice that Aurick had lashed out at her too. Gothar had gotten onto his feet again, throwing himself in front of his wife.


    With Gothar¡¯s face in the dirt, the two riders that came with Aurick pushed their young lord away. One had his arms wrapped around him, and the other¡¯s arms were spread afar to keep everyone at bay.


    ¡°Off of me!¡± shouted Aurick. ¡°Off I said!¡± His father¡¯s men did as they were told, but kept it close. The young lord looked around the peasants, into their shocked and frightened visages. ¡°What did you think you were doing?¡±


    ¡°My¨C¡± Gothar was on his knees and hands, blood dripping from his nose. ¡°My deepest apologies, young lord¡­¡±


    ¡°You owe me good stitchwork,¡± said Aurick and came closer again, watched by the retainers. He ran his hand down his doublets and rested it on the gold-hilted longsword on his hip. It was adorned with their family crest on top, and his personalized crest with the spear shaped as a lightning bolt down low. In the middle was the coat of arms of the Eagle Society, an eight-pointed blue eagle in the shape of a star on silver ground.


    ¡°I¡¯ll mend it if you leave it with me.¡± Roda knelt next to her husband, but didn¡¯t break her gaze from Aurick. Her offer was loud and said with resentment. ¡°Or let someone bring it down from the keep whenever you feel comfortable.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for that, wench,¡± replied Aurick and looked around the peasantry. ¡°If I remember right, you have a daughter that recently came of age? I¡¯ll take her with me to the keep so that she can mend the damage you did.¡± The knight smirked, while he eyed every girl and young woman.


    Nobody was whispering anymore. Losse had come to Roda¡¯s side and held a handkerchief under Gothar¡¯s nose. Meanwhile, Vils kept an eye on Bigge, whose veins stood out on his half-bald head and neck. The white of his knuckles was about to burst out of his fists.


    Roda held the crest of her liege tight. So tight that the needle of the fibula pierced her hand. She averted her sharp eyes, away from Sir Aurick. If she had to look at him one more time, she didn¡¯t know what would overcome her.


    ¡°Young Lord, we¨C¡± Her lips trembled. ¡°We¡¯ve reported the death of our oldest to Sir Ludwald two years ago. And our youngest got sick this winter. We¨C¡± Her voice gave in and the blood of her hand joined that of Gothar¡¯s nose. ¡°You were there. You stood right next to your brother when we came up that mountain. Your father denied our request to ask for an Auror from St. Gellen. Not even a star brother or sister.¡±


    ¡°How dare you speak to me like¨C¡± Aurick listened carefully. His and her eyes had the same look. Even their voices could have been the same. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, mustering Roda from head to toe. ¡°You¡¯ll do.¡±


    The knight wasted no time, pushed his father¡¯s men to the side. He grabbed Roda¡¯s wrist where she held his fibula. When he felt her resistance, he pulled out an ornamented dagger. Gothar grabbed her other hand, while Bigge came in with a haymaker that didn¡¯t land. One of the lackeys swatted him away with his backhand before the underfed ox was able to land his fist.


    ¡°Aurick!¡± yelled the other bearded retainer. Trying to hold the young lord back, his words were drowned out by the peasants¡¯ pleads. ¡°Your father¨C¡±


    ¡°Hands off my wife!¡± Meanwhile, Gothar was heard by everyone, loud and clear. He pushed his son to the side, who tried to cling to his mother. Breathing through his nose was hard and his hands were covered in mud. Gothar knew his wife too well. She was kicking and screaming, as she did since she was a child. While her husband tried to get on his feet, Roda¡¯s elbow connected with Aurick¡¯s jaw.


    ¡°You¨C¡± The knight halted his dramatic tenor, as his head snapped back. His nose was wrinkled like a bulldog, as were his teeth. ¡°Ego fulguro!¡±


    A flash illuminated the early morning fog, as the dagger sunk into Gothar¡¯s chest. An explosive bolt of lightning worked itself through his entire body, as the peasant hit the ground. His body stiffened up before one last twitch of his legs. There was no blood, only the smell of cauterized blood.


    ¡°Stop touching me!¡± yelled Aurick. He pushed Roda into the mud, next to her husband and son. Time stood still in Penram, as he walked backwards.


    ¡°Pa!¡± Telf crawled to his father¡¯s side. On his knees, he checked his breath and eyes. ¡°Papa,¡± he screamed. ¡°Please!¡± He tried to look at his mother, kneeling next to him, but the tears blurred everything.


    ¡°Gothar.¡± Bigge held his jaw. ¡°Come on,¡± he said and tapped his brother¡¯s cheeks left and right. ¡°Come on, this can¡¯t be it.¡± Pressing down on the hole in Gothar¡¯s chest, his older brother repeated himself over and over. ¡°Come on!¡±


    Surrounded by a veil of burned arcanium, Aurick wiped his chin and sheathed his dagger. ¡°Why can¡¯t you idiots just do what you¡¯re told?!¡± He kicked at Gothar¡¯s feet, which made Roda twitch out of her stare to the ground.


    ¡°Young lord,¡± said the retainer behind Aurick, but didn¡¯t dare to touch him. ¡°This¨C¡± His eyes caught those of Roda, who wandered slowly up Aurick¡¯s body, with her knuckles sunken into the mud. The bearded man mouthed a silent ¡®No¡¯ at her. Many of the peasants were reaching for her, as they saw the same future¡­


    ¡°Aurick, we must leave. The other villages; and¨C¡± The other retainer took over, placing his hand close to the knight¡¯s chest without connecting. ¡°Your father won¡¯t like this,¡± he said, threateningly.


    ¡°Y¨C¡± The young lord looked around the village. ¡°Y¨C, yes,¡± he stammered. ¡°We have work to do. As have you!¡± he commanded the peasants. ¡°You heard my Father¡¯s orders.¡± He backed away. His lackeys paved the way for him by shoving everyone aside until they reached their steeds. ¡°Do as you¡¯re told,¡± he said, before mounting his jet black horse and spurring it. ¡°We¡¯ll check on the snail progress!¡±


    Roda heard nothing around her, and felt no touch on her. Her gaze lingered on the horses until they were gone. Like in her dreams, she looked at her husband. Her dirty hands ran over his clothes where the hole was burned. With her nails, she tore it even wider. ¡°I¨C¡± Her voice broke. ¡°I¡¯ll¨C¡± Her words were slurred, and she still heard the hooves drumming on her heart. Only when Telf wrapped his arms around her did she return from her dream.


    ¡°

 Chapter 39 - Day Zero

    Chapter 39


    Day Zero ¨C Evening


    The village had been absent-minded for the last two days. Everyone was thinking about one question: ¡®Who would be next?¡¯ But they ploughed, shoveled and carted manure, ploughed some more, and searched for snails until the sun went down. Eight hundred acres of work for all three villages, in a fief that was three or four times that size in total. No rest, no break. Their life was not just endless toil, but when the time came, it had to be done. If there was one true law, it was that of the tides and seasons, above that of the King¡¯s or the Prince¡¯s.


    They had asked the neighboring villages of Bromwich and Luphton for help instead. Word spread around about what happened to Gothar. He who stole their trees on Fire Festival thrice, and charmed more than his wife when he was young. Helping Penram out was taken for granted, as was attending the funeral.


    As was custom, all of their clothes were dyed with young oak bark or the black soil of the river. The period of mourning lasted until the black had faded. Hundreds of men and women, old and young, gathered around Gothar, laid in repose on a funeral pyre. He was the only one in light colors ¨C his freshly washed undergarments. Father Sun made the sky appear red, and plenty of torches were placed all around.


    ¡°He was¨C¡± Bigge faced everyone up front, with his family close-by. His and Gothar¡¯s father, like many of the other old-timers, sat on a stool. ¡°He was my little brother.¡± He wiped his bald head with the coif that he held in his hand. There was no Auror to hold a Lecture. They didn¡¯t even ask for one. But there was no reason to not treat it like this was a proper Lecture, which meant presenting your true self uncovered to the Stars. Bigge looked back at his brother¡¯s dead body before he gasped. ¡°All of you remember how often I had to get him out of trouble? When we were all still young and innocent¡­ Havel?¡± He looked at a man whose face looked as if it was made by a mason. ¡°You remember when you chased him from Bromwich to Penram and I had to knock you over or you¡¯d kill him?¡± The man built like an underfed ox tried to smile. He really did. He constantly looked back into his brother¡¯s face and at his own feet. Gasping and blinking. ¡°Man, that¡¯s¨C¡± His eyes wandered towards the sunset. The rite demanded to celebrate one¡¯s life until the Stars revealed themselves, and then release one¡¯s soul to join them. Leave no mortal shell behind. ¡°That¡¯s so much time. He was such a bright Star. And¨C¡± Bigge grabbed his mouth and nose, wiping what was not flowing. ¡°If¨C¡± he uttered. ¡°If only we could have been born somewhere else. In a city. Up that castle. Anywhere,¡± he said, looking up that mountain where their liege resided, and then Gothar again. When he turned back to his neighbors, friends and family, he moved as if time was about to stand still. ¡°Anywhere. He would have made us proud; been something else. Something better.¡± Finally, he locked eyes with his sitting father, who hadn¡¯t spoken a single word in two days. He just sat. No tears. No blinking. No reaction. Nothing.


    Bigge put his hands on his chest and took a deep breath. Instead of the thoughts about his brother though, a sigh came out and he formed fists. ¡°Damned,¡± whispered the stout man, as all strength left his body and he slouched down. A couple eyebrows rose from the curse, but nobody dared to speak up. The sobs were enough for them. ¡°By the Kraken, I am fifty years old,¡± he cried out loud. ¡°I knew him for forty-six¡­ and I have nothing to say.¡± Turning around, he braced himself against the pyre with both hands and looked at his brother. ¡°Nothing meaningful. Neither for you, nor my wife, nor our mother.¡± Tears dropped on Gothar¡¯s face. ¡°Just fuck them,¡± said Bigge to him. ¡°Fuck them all. Dry summers, cold winters, and they want fucking snails from us. F¨C, fucking¨C¡± A human touch made Bigge shiver in relief. When he turned around, his body answered the warm embrace without knowing who it was.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing great,¡± whispered Roda into his ear. ¡°I¡¯ll take over from here.¡±


    They held each other for a bit longer before brother and sister-in-law let go of each other. Bigge joined his friends and family ¨C the good folk of Penram, Bromwich and Luphton. His son and daughter met him half-way and gave him another hug. Telf stayed behind with their grandfather, Talles, resting his hand on the old man¡¯s shoulder. When Bigge faced his father, a sad look was returned.


    ¡°I love you, Gothar.¡± The frail man¡¯s voice trembled.


    ¡°I love you too, pap,¡± replied Bigge with a bittersweet smile.


    The widow had been treated like a raw egg ever since her husband had died. They didn¡¯t want her to work; but she did. They didn¡¯t want her to cook for her son and Talles; but she did. They didn¡¯t even want her to prepare Gothar¡¯s starforsaken funeral. But she did. Her fellow villagers wanted her to rest, but she didn¡¯t know how. And she never did, if she was honest to herself. When she stepped in front of the folk that wanted to celebrate her husband¡¯s life, she felt more than tired. For the last few days, she feared that resting might kill her. So she wore Gothar¡¯s clothes, no matter how alien it looked to the other women. Because they still smelled like him.


    Closing her eyes, Roda put all thoughts aside. ¡°Before I moved from Bromwich to Penram ¨C shortly after my mother was kicked in the head by that ox ¨C she assured me one thing.¡± Roda paused and opened her deep green eyes again. She looked into the sky, searching for her mother, as the stars were coming out one by one. ¡°She assured me that Gothar and I were a match made by the Stars. That when she was my age, that old Fate-Reader from St. Gellen told her she would bear a Wild Wolf that would find its match. Gothar was a bull ¨C like his brother is¨C¡± She saw how Bigge chuckled for a moment, while wiping his cheeks with his coif. She also saw how Telf was approached by a girl from behind, and how he lightened up. ¡°But he surely was a wild one too. Y¡¯all know how he got that tree three times. And I know how many of you he got,¡± she said, looking through the ranks of women who suddenly avoided her gaze. ¡°But I was the one who got a tree. I know I can be difficult. Stubborn, most would say. But that¡¯s what made us work. Someone he couldn¡¯t smooth-talk; and by the Stars could he talk smooth.¡± A couple more chuckles came from the crowd.


    Roda did not dare to look back at Gothar while speaking, nor could she muster that smile he asked her for. Her eyes were as sharp as ever, and she stood upright. Only her hands waved with her words. ¡°Bigge,¡± she said and looked at her brother-in-law again. ¡°You think you and Gothar were opposites. But you¡¯ve always spoken truths. And no truth rings truer than what you said before¡­¡± She took another deep breath. ¡°Fuck them,¡± she exhaled, and more folk dared to laugh. ¡°Hopefully, we get one more day of work before the soil freezes. I¡¯ll demand satisfaction from our liege on the morrow. He and his brood have done nothing but look down on us. Take our hard earned labour for the promise of security ¨C for which we still can be levied. I know y¡¯all have tried to talk me out of this, but we need to demand what little rights we have.¡±


    A murmur rippled through her fellow commoners. Whispers of sympathy and danger. Nobody had it in them to interrupt a widow at her husband¡¯s funeral. What little Roda could understand was enough for her. She saw in their eyes; that she was right.


    ¡°Gothar was a brave man. A foolish man even. But that did not make him a courageous one,¡± continued Roda. ¡°If he was here, he would try to stop me. He hated it when I volunteered to talk to Sir Ludwald. But this winter has changed even him. Changed us. We talked deep at night. That we feared that one more winter like this would be our last. That none of us would last¡­¡± Remembering these nights, Roda grabbed her own heart, turning around to face her husband. A thin line of sunlight waited to be extinguished, but all the Stars were now with them. ¡°Gothar of Penram and me, Roda of Bromwich, were deeply in love. Are deeply in love. He was a beautiful man, a kind man, and a funny man.¡± Her fingers caressed her husband¡¯s cold face, and a gasp broke her voice. One more time, she allowed herself to cry. ¡°Soon he¡¯ll be with our babies.¡±


    Feeling that this was the end, the first attendants clapped. A damp sound with many sobs among it. Roda let go of Gothar and rejoined her family, holding each other¡¯s hands. They had to wait until the sun was completely gone. Only then were they allowed to set the pyre ablaze. Set Gothar free from his body, and let his soul ascend.


    ¡°Senna,¡± said Roda and greeted the hazel-haired girl that was with her son with a hug. ¡°How long is it since we¡¯ve spoken?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Roda,¡± said the meek girl. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± replied the older woman. ¡°We¡¯ll get by and I¡¯ll¨C¡± Roda stopped, pressing her lips shut. Her eyes were closed for one awfully long breath.


    ¡°Ma?¡± Telf put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Do you think there¡¯s a village like ours up there?¡± he asked and watched the stars. ¡°Like¡­ with everyone that ever lived in Penram?¡±


    Putting her hand on top of that of her son, Roda joined her son¡¯s gaze. ¡°That would be nice, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± she mumbled. ¡°But we won¡¯t find out any time soon. There¡¯s plenty ahead of us.¡±


    Turmoil sounded from behind the watermill. Bigge and Roda, and many more adults, turned around at the sources of confused murmurs. But it turned out to not be a child, before anyone could snub the voice. A grown man pushed himself through the crowd, loud and unintelligible, sending shocks through the peasants¡¯ bones.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°You insolent lil¨C¡± slurred Aurick, as he slapped a man that came too close to him. His lip was split open, and his left eye was black and blue. He reeked of wine. ¡°Where¡¯s that dimwitted arsehole?!¡± he yelled. ¡°I need to take a piss!¡±


    Roda¡¯s eyebrows narrowed at the sight, sound and stink of the man who murdered her husband. The thought of him waltzing into Gothar¡¯s funeral, after what he did, made her whole body tremble. Foremost her fists. This was the most sacred rite, even more so than a child¡¯s name-blessing at age one. As everyone moved to the side, Roda stayed. Her blood was boiling, and her posture stiff as a fence post.


    ¡°I remember you,¡± said Aurick as he stopped in front of the peasant woman. ¡°You that bitch who lost her stud.¡± He ogled her from head to toe, struggling to stay upright. ¡°Want to be next, huh?¡±


    ¡°Young lord,¡± replied Roda softly, close to silent. ¡°Young lord!¡± She repeated as loud as she could. ¡°I beg you, please, leave us be. I¡¯ll come to your dear lord father in the morrow to settle this by law,¡± she commanded. ¡°I need you to¨C¡±


    A loud ¡®smack¡¯ went through the entire village, and Bigge had to restrain Telf. Roda¡¯s face ¨C her entire body ¨C was thrown to the side, as the knight raised his open hand above everyone. ¡°You think there¡¯s something to settle?¡± Aurick¡¯s dramatic tenor rose. ¡°My father took care of your grievances. Consider this over.¡±


    She had been known to become mad in her youth, but nobody had ever seen Roda¡¯s face the way it was when she turned towards Aurick. The flames were reflected in her green eyes, as her lips stood open with bit teeth between them. Hundreds, nay thousands, of words went through her mind. Only the impuissance of her birthrights held them in.


    ¡°But¡­¡± The young lord smirked at Roda¡¯s feeble defiance. ¡°You still owe me,¡± he uttered, leaning forward. He wore the same clothes he wore two days ago. And pointed at the loose threads and tear where his family¡¯s crest used to rest.


    Not only Roda, but all the commonfolk held their breaths. Telf¡¯s anger transformed into more tears, with Senna¡¯s arms around him. His uncle stood right next to him, petrified. He couldn¡¯t do anything. Even with his children and father around him, he felt alone and powerless. Again. There was only watching and silent prayer for the attendants of the funeral. The only thing they could do was endure more pain.


    ¡°Fine.¡± Roda nodded after a gulp. ¡°Just¨C¡± she stuttered, avoiding looking at her family. ¡°Follow me home. Where my sewing kit is. Please¨C¡± She looked at the pyre and her dead husband, burying her nails into his chausses that she wore. ¡°Not here. Not in front of¨C¡±


    ¡°Have it your way,¡± interrupted Aurick. When Roda moved ahead, he slapped her behind to make her move faster. ¡°No man of the house to punish you for wearing trousers, eh?¡±


    The peasant woman barely moved from it, but instead raised her voice without looking back. ¡°Please, go ahead. Celebrate Gothar¡¯s life; do not mind me. It won¡¯t take too long.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s up to me,¡± slurred Aurick, as he staggered down the trail through the village.


    After seeing Roda disappear into the dark, down the creek, more and more of the peasants looked ashamed. They didn¡¯t dare to speak, nor to gasp, or continue with the rite. Silence tormented them, until Bigge dashed away to the side, into his own house. Every vein on his bald head bulged, even at night. Those who knew him, recognized that his head was not merely red from the dim light of the torches. His own children looked at each other confused, before running after him. Telf followed soon enough. There was no celebration without Roda. But something had to be done¡­


    Meanwhile, Roda heard each step and breath taken by her and Aurick. She kept ahead of him, to not show her face. She didn¡¯t want him to see her sharp eyes, and what thoughts intruded her mind, screaming at her over and over. Focused on what lay ahead of her, she did not blink even once. Not even when a single tear found its way down her cheek. She vowed to herself that this was her last tear.


    ¡°Don¡¯t cry, whore,¡± said Aurick when they reached the door of their home. ¡°If you do well, I might even tip you.¡± He went ahead, as Roda guided him inside. Skimming through the dark room, illuminated by the moon and stars, the knight placed his hand on the hilt of his ornamented longsword. ¡°You commonfolk have your beds up there, don¡¯t you?¡± Looking up the ladders, his gait was unsteady. ¡°Get on the fucking table,¡± he ordered. ¡°And get rid of these damned leggings. If I ever catch you with something like these again, this will not be my last visit.¡±


    Like the good serf she was, Roda walked over to her family¡¯s table and hesitantly sat down on it. This was where they ate together, sang together, talked to each other and quarreled. Her heart was racing, but the rest of the world became slower and slower around her. She closed her eyes. ¡°My¨C¡± she stuttered. ¡°My husband was a wonderful kisser.¡± Disgusted at herself, she pressed her lips shut.


    ¡°You wenches are all the same.¡± Aurick poised himself, grabbed his crotch and stepped in front of her spread legs. ¡°In the end, you¡¯re nothing but animals.¡±


    He placed his hands on her hips, and groped downwards, ready to rip off the chausses. All while he pressed his stinking breath onto Roda¡¯s lips, forcing his tongue between.


    Taking one last breath through her nose, Roda felt every emotion she ever knew at the same time. What happened in the last two days ¨C two months, or two years ¨C flowed through her body, out of her heart and into her teeth. She savored the taste of blue blood, while hearing a gurgling scream that couldn¡¯t properly form anymore. Her nails pierced Aurick¡¯s flesh, before pushing him away and spitting his tongue in front of him.


    ¡°You miserable piece of shit!¡± she yelled, with her lips and chin smeared red. ¡°You leech!¡± Both their eyes stood wide open, meeting each other with the same intensity. Roda could not understand the melodic chortles the knight threw at her, nor did she care. She looked around to find something to arm herself with. ¡°This is for my h¨C¡± Grabbing a piece of pottery from the table behind her, the following attack was easily deflected to the side. She felt how weak she was, no matter how drunk and hurt Aurick was.


    When the knight pulled out his sword, the blood loss was making it slip out of his hand before the blade reached Roda. Aurick stumbled against the peasant woman, making her crash against the table. She braced herself against him. Pushing him through the room with her legs, Roda sprinted past the young lord.


    With blood spilling all over his attire, Aurick¡¯s eyes followed the peasant woman. He grabbed the decorated dagger that he had murdered her husband with, angry but unable to make himself heard. The young lord kicked a chair out of his way. Stumbling and slow, he followed her behind the wall that split the room in two. Sure that this woman could not do any further damage to him. The knight held the dagger, ready to thrust. As he moved around the wall, a flash of steel cut across his chin and into his throat. Years of training made him stab forward, without ever learning of his success.


    Standing above her young lord, Roda let out a feral shriek. Tightening the grip on the cleaver, she panted and stared at the puddle of blood she stood in. The shoes everyone in her family wore, the clothes of her husband, and her own skin were drenched in Sir Aurick¡¯s blood. Her own blood was dripping into it from her right eye. Squinting at what she had done, she wiped her mouth; but only more red was smeared across her face.


    Roda watched Aurick twitch and curl up, trying to grab her leg. Seeing him struggle was¡­ she did not have the time for that. A kick into his face, and one into his ribs, and one last one into his groin followed. She then knelt down and grabbed his hair. Gone was her feeling of weakness when she dragged him behind her. Blessed was she, with the righteous strength the Stars gifted her.


    After she kicked in her own door to get back into the village, she came to a full stop again. Right in front of her stood her brother-in-law, holding a threshing flail. Right behind him was her son, nephew and niece, all armed with whatever tool they could grab ¨C as had everyone else. With each heavy breath, she looked at another man, woman or child that she had known for all her life. All she could do was let out another scream, making Bigge jump, before she moved on.


    The same way her fellow men had made way for Aurick when he invaded the funeral, they made way for Roda now. Afraid to stand in her way, touch her, or speak to her. She nearly fell over twice, tripping over her own feet, and dripping from her right eye. She didn¡¯t stop until she reached her beloved¡¯s pyre. Neither knowing, nor caring if Aurick was still alive or not, she reveled in Gothar¡¯s peaceful face for a moment. Not for too long though, before she lifted the lumping body of their liege¡¯s son and held his head against the pyre. Right next to her husband¡¯s face. Filled with pain, she let go of everything that slumbered at the bottom of her soul for all these years. Over and over, Roda cleaved into the knight¡¯s neck, chin, chest and whatever she could get. Butchering him like the rotten swine he was. All she wished for was for Gothar to see what she did.


    The continuous screams faded away after Aurick¡¯s torso hit the ground, making way for dull groans. Again, she felt no touch, and no words could reach her. Roda braced herself against the wood and stared at her husband¡¯s face. The rage was not gone. She still felt the hair between fingers.


    ¡°Ma?¡± Telf¡¯s sobbing broke through to her. ¡°Thank you,¡± cried the boy, as he wrapped his arms around her, making her collapse into him. ¡°Thank you so much, ma.¡±

 Chapter 40 - Day Eighteen

    Chapter 40


    Day Eighteen ¨C Morning


    The unlikely alliance had moved on with the first sunlight. In agreement with Zaber and Franque¡¯s plan, they made a new camp closer to the fortified mines Sagir was transported to. Avoiding the major roads of the region, another forest in the mountains was found to hide in. Thyra sang to the injured throughout the night, and on the back of a moving wagon. The fugitive peasants had seven of these, with a couple more smaller hay carts.


    After setting up the new camp, the witch went to sleep, and Zaber used the opportunity to ignore her order to stay down. The veterans and brigands had business ahead of them. Soon enough, Zaber could rest as much as he wanted¡­


    ¡°Time to talk strategy,¡± said Zaber promptly when he reached Roda, and Bigge.


    They sat under a prominent tree, sharing water and bread with the other two leaders whose names Zaber had already forgotten. The greasy and unkempt man was able to stand on his own two feet again, even though it was painful. Torm accompanied him in case his mentor needed a shoulder to lean on. On top of that, the young man didn¡¯t have much to do right now. Buron and Breg didn¡¯t need him to test the combat abilities of the peasants to find appropriate roles for them.


    Franque had regained his sense of balance, but still couldn¡¯t hear much in his left ear. He laughed at the possibility that it might be permanent, beyond what magic could do. Much to Thyra¡¯s displeasure. Only the brothers Ludi and Asti were at Franque¡¯s side. Nancia and the other brigands prepared themselves to drive drill after drill into the peasants. The only thing that stopped them right now was that none of them spoke Albinian.


    ¡°Sit with us,¡± said Attel, an old woman with free flowing, thinned out, and receding hair. The pantaloons she wore were too wide. A dirty white sash, that most likely used to be a headscarf, kept it all together.


    Everyone nodded at each other. A couple of chests and barrels served as seats, and everyone found a spot for their bums.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go through the logistics first,¡± said Roda and passed thin slices of bread around. ¡°What kind of weapons do we need to make? Bigge will be in charge of that.¡± She looked at her brother-in-law, who lifted an axe next to him for show. ¡°Spears I assume?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Zaber wasted no time. ¡°It would be pikes anway,¡± he said, reaching for the bread, but faltered from bending his torso too much. Torm took over and gave it to him. ¡°You said you¡¯ve got a few who got levied? They were probably pikemen; archers if good enough. But we ain¡¯t doing that.¡± There was no need to pull any punches. No matter how much his muscles ached. The veteran blinked more than usual, trying to focus. It was hard to decide which was worse: the feeling of his ribs piercing into his heart, his neck burning up, or that he still had the runs from the poppy juice. ¡°Franque and I¡¯ve been thinking hard about how to hammer y¡¯all into shape. We ain¡¯t making you into regulars any time soon. You don¡¯t have the time to learn how to march, run, thrust and fall back as a unit.¡±


    ¡°Sooo¨C¡± Bigge looked annoyed at Zaber and gasped. ¡°What do you want us to do?¡± He turned towards Roda and flicked his wrist at the veteran to wave him away. ¡°I told you, this fool¨C¡±


    ¡°Shut up and listen, oxhead.¡± Glancing at Bigge, Zaber saw the man¡¯s head boil red within breaths. ¡°You want your first melee lesson?¡±


    ¡°Stop it,¡± commanded Roda and stood up. ¡°We¡¯re not talking to each other like this. We¡¯re on the same side now.¡±


    Zaber inhaled and rose as well. Getting looked down upon made him itch, and the voice from his neck more intense. His breath was unsteady, and he was too weak to be a better man. Nobody would look down on him ever again. ¡°How do we talk to each other?¡±


    ¡°Zaber?¡± Torm grabbed his mentor and pulled him back down, making him groan in pain but not budge. ¡°She meant the both of you.¡±


    ¡°You alright?¡± Bigge asked Roda, but didn¡¯t join her. His hand moved towards her arm, and as he glimpsed at his axe. ¡°Roda?¡±


    The one eyed woman¡¯s sole eye met those of Zaber on equal ground. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± she replied. ¡°Y¡¯all need us and we need y¡¯all. We¡¯re simply not used to your kind, please bear with us. The only fellas like you we¡¯ve met worked for Sir Ludwald.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber and gave into Torm¡¯s pull. He braced himself on the barrel he sat on, going down slowly.


    ¡°We can all learn from each other. Bigge, Havel and Attel were elected to ¡®present Penram, Bromwich and Luphton. And I was elected to be the head. We are in charge, because we have their trust.¡± Roda sat down too, fixing loose straings back into her hair bun. Her deep green eye never stopped fixating on Zaber. ¡°We take turns when we talk, and everyone has a say. Please, continue. We are eager to learn how you plan on compensating for our shortcomings.¡±


    ¡°Eh bien,¡± interjected Franque before Zaber said something. ¡°Mon tour then. You get your breath and brains back first.¡± The bandit smirked, but his arms were crossed, and so was his gaze. ¡°We do not have the temps, nor armes for ad¨¦quate training. We¡¯ll make you battre them with what you have habitu¨¦ with.¡± His hands were swirling around with the rhythm of his words, which was fast.


    The four Albinian peasants had very different expressions after hearing the Gal¨¢zian bandit speak. Havel and Bigge were looking at each other, figuring out if the other one had understood the man. The old woman, Attel, moved her hand to her chin and lips, thinking with her face. Every time she thought she understood, she opened her mouth, but refrained from speaking. Only Roda¡¯s stare hadn¡¯t changed much, but went back and forth between Zaber and Franque.


    Torm lifted his hand like a school boy, putting a stop to Franque and Zaber before they could continue. ¡°They have not understood a single word, Franque. You need to slow down,¡± said the young man and prepared himself to speak by tilting his felt cap and looking at Roda. ¡°They want you to fight with your farm tools. Mount the scythes straight on top, drive studs into your flails, and fix them solid with rivets and chains.¡±


    Inflating his cheeks while thinking, Bigge ran his hands over his bald head. He fixed the mess right afterwards. Roda nodded the instructions off to hear more, while Havel and Attel nodded to look like they understood.


    Franque¡¯s infectious laughter boomed up, as he read their faces. Shaking his head, Ludi only had a smile to share, while his younger brother grunted annoyed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget about the pavois,¡± said the bandit leader, gesturing a square into the air.


    ¡°My comrades in arms will be in charge of drilling the basics into your folk,¡± said Zaber, scratching the scar along his jawline. He and Torm were glimpsing at each other. ¡°We¡¯ve been fighting smaller revolts in the past.¡± He waved over the brigands, clenching his fist at the end, and grimacing in pain. ¡°Franque too. We gotta build on the minor successes we¡¯ve seen and avoid their failings. How many crossbows do you have, and how many can your woodworkers make in three days?¡±


    ¡°Uhm,¡± Roda looked at Bigge. ¡°We have hunting bows for small game, and some of us can sling well. Most of it was done with traps.¡±


    ¡°We can use their strings and copy the ones you have.¡± The man built like an underfex ox looked at his hands, counting materials. ¡°We should be able to make¡­ six? Maybe six. Although we have more planks for later¡±


    ¡°Good, we¡¯ll need those,¡± replied Zaber with a curt nod. ¡°I need you to make pavise ¨C large gal¨¢zian shields. Use all the leather you can spare for them. They need to be able to stand on their own with a spike and strut.¡±


    ¡°If you show us how, Bigge and nine other of our craftsmen can make them,¡± said Roda. ¡°Comrades, I mean.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight.¡± The veteran inhaled once more. ¡°Now comes the hard part. There¡¯s no winning if we fight their war. Winning means forcing your way of fighting onto your enemy. And what y¡¯all have done your entire lives, and they haven¡¯t done a single day in theirs, is work.¡± He closed his eyes, only thinking about what he has to explain. ¡°Use the planks to fortify your wagons. Make them sturdy motherfuckers, able to withstand a charge of spell. The shields are for the gaps between them, with your best fighters to stand guard with a polearm. The rest shoots whatever you have at them, never stop, barraging them with all you got. They will outfight you in melee, so we gonna make this a siege.¡±


    ¡°Damned,¡± uttered Bigge and slapped himself on the knees. ¡°I can imagine that. I¡¯ll take it back, this is the right kind of fools!¡±


    ¡°Now we¡¯re talking,¡± said Attel and jumped off her seat. ¡°Me and the weaker folk can carry the bolts, arrows and stones; and reload them.¡±


    A faint twitch flashed over Roda¡¯s lips, without losing her sharpness. Her one eye narrowed, as she rested her chin on one fist. ¡°Go on,¡± she whispered.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°You gotta lure them out, make them think they¡¯re stronger. Which they are.¡± Zaber¡¯s voice trembled and broke. ¡°I¨C¡± he stuttered. ¡°Go on, rat-king. Explain it in your dirty language.¡± The greasy and unkempt man gasped and held his torso with both hands. ¡°The b¨C¡± He paused. ¡°Torm will translate.¡±


    Torm¡¯s eyes flared up when he witnessed his mentor flounder. Pearls of sweat have been building up on Zaber¡¯s forehead. The apprentice¡¯s focus shifted away from the conversation, rubbing his wrists. ¡°Man, are you alright?¡± he asked. ¡°Want me to wake up Thyra?¡± The veteran¡¯s answer was a weak handwave that made Torm grind his teeth.


    ¡°At least my langue doesn¡¯t sound like deux drunkards yelling at each other,¡± laughed Franque. He noticed Zaber falter, which made him act more flamboyantly. ¡°Over here, gar?on!¡± He snapped his fingers at Torm before flooding him in his native tongue ¨C slow, loud and emphasized.


    ¡°He says we should split up. The labor camp will have between one and five hundred guards and be lightly fortified. Wooden palisades, something that¡¯s easy to expand on. It¡¯s not built to keep folk outside, but within.¡± Torm¡¯s voice was devoid of emotion and nuance, as he paused and glimpsed at Zaber a lot. He wasn¡¯t just breathing heavyly, but scratching his skin, sweating like a pig before the slaughter. ¡°They¡¯ll have line magicians, and at least two noblemen of unclear martial prowess. Their cavalry¨C¡± The young man fiddled with his leather jerkin, pulling his kerchief and handing it over to his mentor with a pressing gaze. ¡°Cavalry will be light: more like messengers, or to look for runaways.¡± When Torm felt Roda¡¯s eye piercing through him, he shook of his concern and turned his head towards the peasants. Everyone noticed Zaber¡¯s breakdown, but the one-eyed woman ignored it and nodded along. ¡°So, your few crossbowmen will have to work in tandem of two or three. Shooting, handing it back for someone to reload, shooting again. We, the proven fighters, will head in for an assault after you bait them outside.¡±


    ¡°Wait¨C¡± Bigge raised his hand. ¡°We¡¯re going to face them alone, without any of you at the helm?¡±


    ¡°Non, non.¡± Franque shook his head and hands. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you my s?ur. She¡¯ll gardera and conseillera you. I assure you, if anybody can d¨¦fendre you, it is her. Consider her¨C¡± He hesitated, rubbing his fingers in front of his mouth to pull out the words. ¡°Une otage. I¡¯ll get her back, because we won¡¯t lose.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± said Roda and sighed. ¡°I didn¡¯t understand a single word. Who¡¯ll be with us?¡±


    Franque shooed Torm with his hands who did as he was told. The young man looked annoyed and concerned at the same time, keeping an eye on Zaber. The veteran held his ribs and had his nails buried into the scar on his jaw.


    ¡°We need to scout ahead next, to find the best spot to take position,¡± translated Torm. ¡°Intel on their manpower, the camp itself and its insides. And how to let the captives loose to join us; turn their numbers on them.¡± The young man¡¯s face turned irritated at what Franque explained next. ¡°Zaber and Asti will saddle up at sundown and ride ahead.¡± Torm¡¯s head snapped to the side, at the wreck next to him. ¡°What?¡± he asked. ¡°Are you fucking with me? You can¡¯t¨C¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Zaber¡¯s fist twitched, as he exhaled. ¡°Everyone else is needed for the drills.¡±


    ¡°Look at you, you can¡¯t even sit right,¡± replied Torm, and pointed at Asti. ¡°And why him and not me? Thyra needs to sing to you more.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, why me?¡± Asti stood up and stepped in front of Torm, who rose as well, bumping chests.


    ¡°His brother and Franque are valuable instructors,¡± said Zaber and straightened up against the pain, staring the two youngsters down. ¡°The plan stands as is.¡±


    ¡°If you go, I¡¯ll follow. I don¡¯t give a fuck what you say.¡± The young man ignored Asti¡¯s posturing, enraging him even further. ¡°I have nothing to teach, there¡¯ll be no duels and I can barely do the drills myself.¡±


    ¡°Fellas.¡± Roda walked next to Asti and Torm and put her hands on their shoulders. ¡°Comrades,¡± she corrected herself. ¡°None of you are showing us their best. Sort this out between yourself when our talk is over. Stay on point.¡±


    The brigands exchanged disgruntled eyes with Zaber and Torm until Franque broke the silence. ¡°This is our last point,¡± he said. ¡°Zabr¨¦, le glorieuse monstruosit¨¦, his petit ami and my men will do what we do best. Be maraudeurs.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t understand half of this,¡± replied Roda, fixing her hair bun once more. ¡°But I trust you know what you¡¯re doing. What about the witch?¡±


    ¡°Hothead here will be her garde.¡± Franque nodded at Torm, who was lost in a stare-off with Zaber that couldn¡¯t be stopped by the most infectious laughter. ¡°She¡¯ll try to back us up with her magie as we br?lons the place to the ground,¡± he said with a smirk that gave no room for misinterpretation from the peasants. ¡°Festival du fire.¡±


    ¡°Let me go,¡± said Torm, ignoring everything around him. ¡°I¡¯ve snuck into enough houses, including the Westwatch. By the St¨C¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± Roda clapped her hands on her legs and shook her head. ¡°We done?¡±


    ¡°Ouais,¡± replied Franque, getting on his feet, and Ludi looking out for him. ¡°Our camarades will soon drill your culs.¡± The two bandits walked past Asti, who brooded over what only Father Sun might know.


    ¡°Wait,¡± said Zaber and ignored Torm. ¡°You got good metalworkers?¡± he asked the peasants.


    ¡°Yes, To? and his family from Luphton repair tools and make nails,¡± answered Bigge. None of the peasants were about to move, as they would continue their own meeting afterwards. ¡°Need your weapons mended?¡±


    ¡°Point me at them,¡± said the veteran, trying to get up, but fumbling. Torm¡¯s grim face changed immediately, rushing to his mentor¡¯s side. ¡°I need¨C¡± Zaber panted. ¡°I need something special. Nothing too complicated.¡±


    Roda stood up and let her eye wander around the camp. ¡°How about I point them at you instead? If my son, like your¨C¡± She halted and mustered Torm benevolently. ¡°Whatever you two are. But he is right, you need to rest, and you should know that.¡± Giving no room to reply, the one-eyed woman walked away, followed by her brother-in-law. The bickering was heard for quite a while.


    ¡°Mind sharing?¡± asked Asti harshly. ¡°We¡¯re¨C¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± interrupted Zaber, trying and failing to not lean on Torm¡¯s shoulder. With the mentor¡¯s slouched posture, the apprentice had gained the high ground. ¡°I need to talk to you anyways,¡± he said to Asti, before he rubbed the scar on the back of his hand and glimpsed at Torm. ¡°This ain¡¯t one of your evening visits to steal kisses and get blown.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± said Torm. ¡°I know what the fucking stakes are. You think I don¡¯t want Sagir back?¡± He put Zaber back on his ass and pressed his kerchief into the greasy and unkempt man¡¯s hand. ¡°But I want you to survive this as well. I want all of us to be together and play dice again!¡± yelled Torm while forcing his mentor to wipe his forehead and showing him the sweat. ¡°Look at you, man. Even without Asher, or Ceyhan, or Kell¡­ I want to go back to normal.¡±


    Zaber let out the longest sigh his lungs let him produce, until the pain bit him and his entire right side twitched. ¡°Argh, fuck it, damned¨C¡± he seethed through his teeth. ¡°¡¯aight, fucking go. Do it.¡±


    ¡°Finally,¡± gasped Torm. ¡°I am one of you now, you and Breg said it.¡±


    Franque and Ludi were waiting for Asti, who observed the pair of apprentice and mentor. The brigands¡¯ leader still had trouble when he stood up too fast, but Buron told him that this was only temporary.


    ¡°Ludi?¡± Zaber looked back, turning around as far as his body let him without screaming bloody murder.


    ¡°Huh?¡± The older brother came back a step. ¡°S¨¬?¡±


    ¡°Can you go scouting with him?¡± Zaber waved at Torm. ¡°I need your brother.¡±


    None of the veteran¡¯s companions knew what Zaber was talking about. Suspicion seeped into their gazes as they checked on each other. Franque walked next to Zaber and braced himself on his ally¡¯s shoulder. With some pressure, so that the veteran would understand. ¡°Why so secret?¡± he asked. ¡°If our plan changes, I should know, shouldn¡¯t I?


    Zaber looked up and forced himself to smirk. ¡°We ain¡¯t sending two green ones, ain¡¯t we?¡±


    Ludi moved between Zaber and his younger brother. Standing at full height, he rubbed the parts where his beard grew into his neck, irritated. ¡°My brother is many things,¡± said the brigand. ¡°But not vert.¡±


    Held back by his older brother¡¯s whole posture, Asti grumbled a half-swallowed ¡°Futtuto stronzo¡­¡±


    ¡°Can you all stop this?¡± asked Torm, slouching his arms defeated. ¡°We¡¯re in this together, and there are a bunch of innocent folk involved now. Can you just spit it out, Zaber?¡± The young man pleaded with his eyes. ¡°I am tired of your horseshit secrets.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber, standing up on weak knees. Without thinking about it, Torm helped him turn towards the bandits. ¡°When we trained, Thyra said that a better understanding of the nature of what you wanna¡­ sing¨C¡± He stumbled over his words. ¡°Would help me learn the right tone. What fire feels like. I¡¯ve been burned and branded before, but I ain¡¯t getting it at all.¡±


    ¡°Ohhh¨C¡± Asti¡¯s face overflowed with smugness. ¡°I can do something you can¡¯t. Mi piace.¡±


    ¡°Zaber,¡± said Torm tired. ¡°You told them that we need to force our way of fighting onto our enemy.¡± The young man pointed at the whole peasantry around them. ¡°What the fuck?¡±


    ¡°Believe me, Torm.¡± Zaber¡¯s fists itched in anticipation. ¡°The last thing that perfume-drenched son of a noble whore will expect is what I¡¯ll force onto him.¡±

 Chapter 41 - Day Twenty

    Chapter 41


    Day Twenty ¨C Night


    Father Sun and his daughters pale and scarlet had risen and set since the peasants¡¯ training had begun. The two fastest horses were given to Torm and Ludi. Packed with as little as possible, but plenty of water and rations, Torm and the ten years older bandit rode without much rest. Only after the animals were fed and cooled down with water did they continue.


    They rested their sore thighs and behinds after dark, and discussed their leaders¡¯ and comrades¡¯ faults. There was no need to hide or lay low. The hedges were enough at night, within the vast fir forests. Locals gave them directions ¨C under the guise of being bounty hunters. Nobody would dare to think that two strangers were set out to attack the mines. The duo learned that the nearby town¡¯s name was Swartheim.


    ¡°There,¡± said Torm after a long hike. They left the horses at the foot of the plateau that was carved into the side of a mountain. Even from far away it had been a dreadful sight. Immersed in the familiar smog that Torm remembered from Teblen and other cities. This place was something else though, with the whole area being polluted. The young men had to come very close to even spot the torches and bonfires. A river meandered through the valley below, leading them to their goal. Skulking forward, Torm pointed at the ten foot tall wooden palisades, and Ludi nodded. ¡°Got everything mapped out?¡±


    ¡°Roughly,¡± answered Ludi, silent, in his heavy accent. ¡°I finir¨° tomorrow, when Padre Sole is back. We gotta lay low for a while anyways.¡± The bandit held up a piece of parchment.


    ¡°S¨¬,¡± said Torm. ¡°Now, how are we getting inside without being spotted?¡±


    Traveling light, the young Albinian had asked their peasant allies for dark and earthen colored clothes to wear with his leather jerkin. His shorter companion with the greased back hair wore his normal clothes. Both his vest and breeches were made from brown sheep¡¯s hide. Their faces and hands got powdered in ash.


    ¡°Their attenzione is directed inwards.¡± Ludi watched the spiked tops of the palisade and followed its full length with his eyes. ¡°We¡¯ll circle the palizzate to gather all the knowledge we need. See if we can find an easy place to scalare.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± whispered Torm, as they sneaked through the scrub. All greenery was removed around the palisades, with around one hundred feet of naked grass to bridge.


    Ludi led the way, raising his hand every now and then to make them stop and lower themselves. A ¡°pssht¡±, or a finger in front of his lips was enough, because the young man was quite the good follower. He was used to instructions like these from his mentor. What little sounds they made were drowned out by the hoots of an owl and other birds, rustles and chirrups. Torm could have sworn he saw a lynx or fox even.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been on guardia before,¡± said Ludi and pointed at a part of the walls that had a flat roof on the other side. There were not enough fire bowls to illuminate everything, and even that flickering light couldn¡¯t reach far. The guards were wandering torches on an elevated trail right behind the spiked logs. The bandit had not spotted any polearm tips. He assumed they were armed with crossbows and sidearms. But surely, there were better arms somewhere close. ¡°What you learn on guardia is to look out for the unusual. Details are impossibile at night¡±


    ¡°Which means¡­?¡± Torm squatted behind a trunk, following Ludi¡¯s gaze as best as he could.


    ¡°Two men lurking in the bushes isn¡¯t normali,¡± said the older one, bending over on all fours, with his back kept low. ¡°Roaming boars are,¡± he smiled and let out an uncanny grunt before moving towards the palisades.


    ¡°Wha¨C¡± asked Torm himself more so than Ludi. He only got oinked at in response. It took a while to overcome the shame, but after a long sigh he fell onto his hands and followed. His companion moved in irritating ways; not in a straight line. Grunting every now and then, which Torm mimicked reluctantly. He remembered another of Zaber¡¯s teachings. If someone chased you through the night, through an open field, it would be smarter to lay flat on the ground. Pretend to be a stone or timber.


    Only for the last ten feet did Ludi shift into a sprint to reach their obstacle. With his back braced against the wall and his knees bent, he waited for Torm to give him a leg up. The young man took that invitation, sprinted as well, and got shot up foot-first. This was more what he expected, as he got catapulted over the palisades. The pointed ends weren¡¯t sharp, but impossible to sit on.


    ¡°Fff¨C¡± Torm bit his lips. ¡°Damned, my balls,¡± he groaned, as he reached over the palisades to pull Ludi up. A mound was raised behind the logs, circling the entire camp, with a trampled path along it. No need to climb down.


    The shorter brigand landed on his feet right next to Torm, patting him on the shoulder. ¡°No problema,¡± he whispered, and smirked. ¡°You¡¯ll not need them here.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you¨C¡± Torm smirked back, looking left and right.


    ¡°Andiamo,¡± interrupted Ludi and pointed at a canopy they had seen from outside. It was nothing more than two pairs of thick stilts and a roof, storing logs to reinforce and repair the palisades.


    The duo ran and crouched behind the logs. Searching for the closest movements, shadows and walking torches, the more experienced of the two pointed at something. Torm breathed heavily and held his groin while being led around the pile of logs to hide.


    ¡°Let¡¯s pausa.¡± Ludi put his hand on his young companion¡¯s back. ¡°You can get your cogliones kissed by that gigante or pelato when we¡¯re back,¡± he joked, winking at Torm.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± replied Torm, swatting Ludi¡¯s hand off. ¡°Not funny.¡±


    ¡°I know, that mostro can rip me in half.¡±


    ¡°Zaber will too,¡± said Torm and straightened. ¡°They¡¯ve been through enough. Last thing Breg and Buron need is that kind of shit.¡±


    ¡°Sin is sin, per¨°.¡± The bandit peeked around the corner. ¡°No Star will protect you from sodomia.¡±


    Torm sighed and held his head low behind the pile of woods. His gaze wandered around nervously. ¡°There¡¯s enough other stuff you can talk shit about. But not for this, man.¡±


    In the middle of the camp stood a giant clay bloomery, with a brick workshop right next to it. Everything was covered in a reddish-brown dust, with plenty of storage around it. Elongated wooden barracks and small shacks were peppered throughout the compound. Piles of earth and stone were all around, with buckets, ropes and tools. The outstanding buildings were adjacent to the barracks; conic mining huts as far as the eye reached... as far as the smog allowed for.


    "What¡¯s next?" Torm gripped the hilt of his bauernwehr.


    Ludi swatted at his companion¡¯s hand, like one would shoo away a cat. ¡°If we kill anyone, we cannot return. Even if it takes all night, we must be careful.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± nodded Torm. ¡°Sagir has to be in one of these.¡± He counted the conic huts.


    ¡°S¨¬.¡± Ludi returned a nod. ¡°Non way to know, we have to go inside each. You parlare, I keep watch. Keep in mind that these men and women are disperate.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll¨C¡± The young man exhaled fervently. ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t promettere anything,¡± said the brigand, and stepped outside their hiding spot like he owned the place. Someone sneaking around a prison camp was suspicious. Someone walking upright may be another guard. Especially if one wasn¡¯t walking away from the barracks, but towards.


    The huts had simple doors and were slightly elevated to keep the rain out. They could only be opened from outside, where a sturdy drawbar kept them closed, without a lock. Ludi opened the door with confidence and both went in, closing the door behind them. Staying behind, the brigand kept it shut with his foot and eavesdropped outside. A wooden pillar in the center was connected to beams that kept the roof up, connected to a windlass and a capstan. A rope went down the abyss of a hole, wide with scaffolding that spiraled downwards. There were no hoof prints, but the smell of sweat, blood and suffering spoke for itself.


    ¡°Dead end,¡± whispered Torm, grabbing the grill door on the other side of the hut. Snoring and woeful breathing came from the other side of the heavy lock. His head couldn¡¯t fit between the iron bars, and only a couple of thin slits let light through the outer walls. The young man saw a row of bunk beds with old rags hanging from the edges. The blankets were dirty and perforated, with no tables or chairs around. ¡°Pssht.¡± Torm gently knocked against the iron and wood. ¡°Hey. Over here,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°What?!¡± A convict jumped out of his bed with a deathly gaze. ¡°Please, stop¨C¡± he whimpered, coughing. More movements and murmurs sprang up around him.


    ¡°I¨C¡± Torm was baffled. ¡°I¡¯m no guard. I¡¯m from the outside.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t fall for it,¡± hissed a voice from behind. Another man had gotten up already and tiptoed closer. Covered in rags, his face was stubbled, with small cuts and bruises typical of hard labor. A ripped coif held onto his shaven head. Every head peeking up or cowering behind each other was bald. Each of them was skin and bones, even the strong ones. Trying to say something, the man hunched over and choked up.


    ¡°Pl¨Cplease, be quiet. We¡¯re here for good,¡± uttered Torm. ¡°We¡¯re looking for someone. And guidance; intel.¡±


    The prisoner was a tall man whose age couldn¡¯t be judged without light. His bony fingers wrapped around the metal bars, revealing a fresh stain of blood. ¡°Please, don¡¯t do us dirty,¡± he whispered. ¡°We don¡¯t want trouble.¡±


    ¡°By the Stars, I swear to you,¡± said Torm, his hands twitching away after barely touching those of the convict. ¡°We¡¯re not here for trouble¡­ yet. We¡¯re looking for a Yesilian man who came in the other day. Brought from Teblen, on behalf of Margrave Greodor.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t trust him,¡± hissed another voice from the dark.


    ¡°Send him away,¡± added another.


    ¡°Are you here to kill him, or free him?¡± asked the man behind the bars.


    ¡°That¨C¡± The young man gulped. ¡°That depends. If he talks; has what we want.¡±


    ¡°Why should we tell you anything?¡± Someone croaked from under a blanket. ¡°Find the blackhead. Kill him. Whatever,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re already dead.¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡± Torm halted, and looked back at Ludi. The bandit was still holding the door, but kept a close ear. ¡°Listen¨C¡± The young man couldn¡¯t bring himself to lie to them. ¡°I have some jerky and bread on me. Do you need water? It¡¯s not enough for all of you, but it¡¯s something.¡±


    The prisoners at the door turned around and skimmed through their dozen inmates. ¡°Gram?¡± he asked them. ¡°Gram should get it.¡±


    A moan went through the crowd, but nobody disagreed. The scrawny man held his open hand through the bars and Torm handed over a chunk of dry bread and strips of meat. It was handed back, changing many hands in the barracks, until Torm could see a frail old man, closer to a corpse.


    ¡°Th¨Cthank you.¡± The frail man teared up. ¡°We don¡¯t know where the savage is, but we have heard about him. Go to shaft thirty-nine, just behind us, and then over one more to thirty-eight. There¡¯s a women¡¯s unit,¡± he said, while stuffing his face with Torm¡¯s gift. ¡°They got one or two of the new arrivals. Maybe they can tell you where to find him.¡±


    Torm wanted to return the gratitude, or say goodbye to them. But the sheer sight of these men hurt him too much. When he walked away without a word, he heard a, ¡°I hope we¡¯ll never see you again,¡± behind him. He nodded, without turning around.


    Ludi opened the door to let his younger companion out. ¡°Watch out,¡± he said, before walking outside like nothing had happened.


    The pair kept close to the huts and barracks when following the paths between them. Now that he was told, Torm noticed the numerals above the doors. They waited around a corner until Ludi gave a thumbs up, peeking around every now and then. Number thirty-eight¡¯s door was pushed open, and the pair entered in the same way as before. The brigand watched the door and Torm sent out a ¡°psht¡±, rattling the metal bars with his fingernails. He repeated it once more and tried other means to gain their attention. Then he heard how the inmates stopped breathing and moving at all.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°We¡¯re no guards,¡± whispered Torm. ¡°We¡¯re looking for someone new; who arrived the other day.¡±


    Nobody answered at first, until one woman¡¯s voice lingered in the background. ¡°I¨C¡± she whispered. ¡°I know that voice,¡± she said. Her clothes were not rags yet, but her head was as bald as the men¡¯s. She climbed out of her bunk bed and tiptoed over to Torm, keeping her distance at arm¡¯s length. ¡°You¡¯re the madmen from before,¡± she gasped. ¡°He told us you would come again.¡±


    ¡°Where is he?¡± asked Torm, and pulled his felt cap off.


    ¡°Girls, girls,¡± hissed the bald woman over her shoulder. ¡°This is one of the fellas I¡¯ve told you about. The crazy ones.¡± She suddenly grabbed the bars and pulled herself face-to-face with Torm. ¡°You were the one who left us behind. I remember you.¡±


    ¡°And now I¡¯m back,¡± said Torm without flinching. ¡°Tell me where he is. The Yesilian.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± Her hands moved towards the young man¡¯s, but he retracted them. ¡°So you can leave us behind again? For that animal?¡±


    ¡°No, we¡¯re not here to take him with us. We¨C¡± Now Torm kept her at arm¡¯s length, seeing what her eyes looked like.


    ¡°Is the insane one with you?¡± she interrupted, stretching her neck to look behind the young man. ¡°The metal man? Zaber?¡±


    ¡°Listen, woman.¡± The young man swatted at her face that was pressed between the bars. ¡°We¡¯re here to get all of¨C¡±


    ¡°Ehi!¡± exclaimed Ludi in a shouted whisper. ¡°Don¡¯t tell the zambracca.¡±


    Torm snapped back at Ludi, but kept quiet. His fists were clenched, and his lips trembled while he looked around the place. ¡°She knows who we are anyways,¡± he said and turned around to face the many bald heads on the other side of the latticed gate. ¡°Don¡¯t speak about this with when guards are near, but get the word to the other barracks. We¡¯re coming back; with reinforcements.¡±


    ¡°Count me in, babyface,¡± smirked the woman. ¡°I¡¯m in here for worse than keeping secrets.¡±


    ¡°Be ready on Fire Festival,¡± said Torm and brought his face closer to her. Her eyebrow was burst open, and her age could not be five years older than him. ¡°We¡¯ll set this place ablaze and set you free. Then it¡¯s up to you. Get whatever tools and weapons you can.¡±


    ¡°Blackhead¡¯s in the front, closest to the motte and bailey where the guards sleep,¡± she nodded excitedly. ¡°That fucking knight told them about you, but the chief of this place ain¡¯t believing him. He¨C¡±


    Another woman stood in the back, a ragged blanket wrapped around her. She pushed past her fellow inmate at the gate. ¡°Please,¡± she uttered with sunken cheeks and empty eyes. ¡°Please take him with you.¡± Under the covers around her, she presented her half-bare chest with a thin baby dozing. ¡°I beg you, please¨C¡± Tears were filling up her eyes, but were too few to run down her cheeks. She held the child in front of the bars, which it hardly fit between. ¡°Please, I beg you. Please. I beg you, please. Please, please¨C¡±


    With widened eyes, Torm¡¯s heart stopped, and horror punched him in the gut. He bent forward, grabbing his mouth and chest, nearly throwing up. The first woman¡¯s reflex had been to push back against the mother at first, but stopped when she realized who it was.


    ¡°I¨C¡± The young man looked down on himself in shock, before facing the baby. He had no control over his hands, which took the baby. Holding it close to his chest, his heart started to beat again. ¡°I promise you, we¡¯ll come back. Fire Festival. Be ready. Tell everyone,¡± his voice cracked, as he whispered as fast as he could. ¡°As many as you can. Be cautious. Don¡¯t risk getting caught. We¨C¡± He put his hand on the back of the baby¡¯s head, nodding one last time at the mother. ¡°I¡¯ll get him out. Make sure you make it.¡±


    Torm knew he would throw up if he stayed any longer. He turned around and walked, walked as fast as he could. The bandit guarding the door couldn¡¯t open it fast enough, raising his arms high to not stay in the way.


    ¡°Boy,¡± whispered Ludi, as he closed the door behind them. ¡°Sei impazzito? Are you crazy like Zaber now?¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Torm raised his voice, startling himself. Looking around, he and Ludi disappeared around the next corner. ¡°What do you want me to do? Tell that mother that I won¡¯t save her son?¡± He struggled with how to hold a baby right. ¡°I can¡¯t do that,¡± he said. ¡°I can¡¯t. And you can¡¯t either.¡±


    ¡°You playing the madre card on me? Sei serio?¡± Ludi took the baby away and rested it on his lower arm, supporting its head with his other hand. ¡°Who told you? Franque?¡± he asked, visibly angry. ¡°O era quella maledetta stronza di Nancia?¡± He fiddled around with the baby, swaying it back and forth to keep it quiet.


    The bandit talked to the child in his native tongue. He knew exactly how to handle it, too fast for Torm to comprehend. Ludi took off his vest made from sheep¡¯s hide, with the wool still intact on the inside, and tugged the baby inside.


    ¡°They¡¯ll notice the bambino missing.¡± He bit his lip and placed the child on the ground. ¡°We can¡¯t carry him around. He¡¯ll give us away.¡±


    ¡°I know¨C¡± Torm ran his hand through his hair, while clenching his felt cap with the other. ¡°I know this was stupid.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Ludi looked Torm in the eyes, kneeling over the baby. ¡°This is coraggio. Bravery.¡±


    ¡°Man, I¨C¡± The young man rubbed his wrist before putting on his cap. ¡°I¡¯ve been with Zaber for more than four years. Nothing¡¯s ever been this bad. I¨C¡± He breathed hectically. ¡°Roda, that woman. I think she¡¯s¨C¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± interrupted Ludi and stood up. ¡°I know it; we all know it. Nancia was right to talk us into this. This is our opportunit¨¢ to do something significativo.¡± He peeked around the corner, and then grabbed Torm¡¯s arm. ¡°All but Franque agreed.¡±


    ¡°We need to go on,¡± replied Torm, and both men nodded. ¡°I need to talk to Sagir; let him know.¡±


    ¡°S¨¬, let¡¯s find a spot for the bambino to wait for us,¡± said the brigand and picked the baby up again. ¡°Somewhere close and easy to hop over the palizzate.¡±


    Neither of them was happy about leaving the child behind at another canopy with crates of gravel. But they had to do what they had to do. They hid from one barrack to another, stopping every now and then to wait out passing torches. Close to the fortification the woman mentioned, there were carts with sealed barrels. They were marked with a symbol similar to what the knights had on their arms. Snippets of words and sentences reached Torm and Ludi from a dangerously close pair of sentries. It was the most boring conversation ¨C except that the new enchanter was in bad shape. And that captain was a real pain in the arse.


    ¡°Rapido, now or never,¡± whispered Ludi and sprinted away. Torm had awaited this moment and outran the shorter man with the greased back hair easily. One hand sign at the door later, a quick slap to open the door, and they were in. For the third time, each of them took the same positions. So close to the motte and bailey, this hut was brighter than the ones before.


    ¡°Who¨C¡± Torm froze when he saw a sudden movement in the shadows.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Ludi turned around and froze as well. ¡°Cazzo¨C¡± He gulped.


    ¡°Go on,¡± rang a perfect cavalier baritone. ¡°Is he with you?¡±


    ¡°Wh¨C¡± stuttered Torm. His hand wandered towards the hilt of his blade. ¡°No. Ne he isn¡¯t,¡± he said, walking a wide berth around Beotold, towards the gates to the barracks. The knight wore no armor, but his hand rested on his sheathed sword. His hair and posture were immaculate, like on the first day they had met.


    ¡°I knew I could count on this peasant,¡± said Beotold, leaning against a windlass. ¡°I can see what Airich liked about him. He¡¯s reliable when it matters. Unlike this camp¡¯s captain.¡± He spoke slowly and melodically, directing Torm with his hand. ¡°I said: go on. I won¡¯t tell him.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± asked Torm. He didn¡¯t dare to turn away from the knight, eyeing him every inch that he moved forward. In this pale light, his eyes looked as sunken and dark as Zaber¡¯s. A broken tooth flashed out with every word.


    ¡°Tell him I¡¯m waiting here for him,¡± replied Beotold. Torm recognized that tone. ¡°Let¡¯s settle this once and for all. I¡¯ll bring him to my liege. And then we¡¯ll torture every single memory of Airich out of him. The King will reward the Margrave, and I¡¯ll be declared a hero. Tell him that.¡±


    ¡°Ignore him, boy,¡± whispered Ludi, holding the door shut. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to do. We¡¯re dead or not.¡±


    ¡°Listen to the skunk,¡± said the knight and showed Torm his open hands. ¡°By Saint Leodor, you have my word.¡±


    Turning around felt like the worst decision Torm had ever made. He felt Beotold¡¯s eyes on his back when he leaned into the gate towards the barracks. ¡°Sagir?¡± There was no need to whisper. ¡°I¡¯m here, Sagir.¡±


    Raspy coughs, snores and heavy breaths filled the time before a familiar voice rolled out of a bunk. ¡°I knew it¨C¡± sobbed Sagir. ¡°I knew you would come,¡± he repeated and came closer. More shaven heads popped up behind him.


    ¡°Good to see you,¡± said Torm, looking at the slight limp that Sagir had. His eyes and voice showed no restraint when they grabbed each other¡¯s hands. They pressed their foreheads against each other, cold metal keeping them apart. ¡°You fine?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± smiled Sagir. ¡°Not at all.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Torm smiled back. ¡°Zaber¡¯s killing himself over this. I think this will be our last chance.¡±


    ¡°Bet.¡± Sagir¡¯s voice cracked. Many more curious inmates piled up behind him.


    ¡°Fire Festival. Be ready, they won¡¯t know what will hit them.¡±


    ¡°Damned, you lucky I have nothing else to do.¡± The foreign man chuckled, and forced Torm to do the same. ¡°You alone? I heard¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± interrupted Torm, pulling off his felt cap. He fiddled around with the fibula that was shaped like a sheep. ¡°We allied with some bandits. One¡¯s with me.¡± He looked over his shoulder at Ludi, glimpsing at Beotold half-way. ¡°Zaber¡¯s still recovering, but nothing will stand in his way.¡±


    ¡°I think Nene is dead,¡± said Sagir out of nowhere. He had been alone for so long, and just wanted to talk to his friend. And who knew if he would survive at all. He couldn¡¯t let go of Torm¡¯s other hand.


    ¡°Kovada and Seyfe are probably dead too. And the other three that Hanifa sent with us.¡± The young man bit his lip and looked at his feet. ¡°And Asher.¡±


    ¡°Man.¡± Sagir bent over. He held onto the gate to keep from falling to his knees. ¡°Not Kovada. He was blessed; a noble soul.¡± Tears dropped onto the floor. The other men listened carefully, but didn¡¯t interfere. Neither did Torm, who stowed his cap into his belt and reached through the bars to pad his friend on the shoulder. ¡°Thank you,¡± muttered Sagir. ¡°Thank you for giving a shit about me and Ceyhan.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank us.¡± Torm tried to smile, but failed. ¡°We have to fix this. We promised.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Straightening himself out, Sagir wiped his eyes and laughed. ¡°Still.¡±


    ¡°Listen, we need to go.¡± The young man glimpsed at Beotold again, before stretching his neck so that he could look past Sagir. ¡°I need to talk to another prisoner. Who¡¯s here for a long time? Any of you mind talking to me? We¡¯re here to free all of you.¡±


    A bearded man spat on the ground before getting into a coughing fit that nearly toppled him over. ¡°You a friend of the curveblade?¡± he asked while stepping closer. ¡°He told us about you, but who could have thought he wasn¡¯t lying. Someone like him¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh, cut the crap,¡± said Torm and punched the gate. ¡°All of you are fucking dying here. Take this chance or leave it, but don¡¯t give him any more of that shit.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± said the old man after flinching. ¡°What¡¯s it?¡±


    ¡°How many guards and officers? What about reinforcements, and how many prisoners are in the camp?¡±


    ¡°Uhm¨C¡± The man scratched his beard and shaved head. ¡°There¡¯s the knight captain and his two seconds. I¡¯ve been here for two years, they change the garrisoned banner every half-year. Same with the refiners, who can also do sorcery. Sometimes they have to help out the guards.¡± The old man coughed once more, and Torm closed his eyes. Stains of blood were left on his lips. ¡°We¡¯re five hundred. They¡¯re fifty on foot, fifty in reserve, and thirty horsemen to roam around and pick up the fools who try to run. Very few ever make it.¡±


    ¡°Are there any more soldiers nearby to call for?¡± Torm kept eye contact with Sagir, who walked back to his bunk.


    ¡°Yes, the banner is from a bigger unit from Bruggenburg. All volunteers, no levied men.¡± The old man¡¯s voice was more like a wheeze and hard to hear. A constant coughing accompanied his words. He looked weak and hungry. ¡°There are two more knights staying right now. They brought the new refiner with some horsemen. Don¡¯t know why they¡¯re still around, but they¡¯re real arseholes. Refiner¡¯s barely able to work.¡±


    Torm smiled again, taking a peek into the dark corner where Beotold crossed his arms. ¡°Be ready. When we come, we¡¯ll let all of you run wild. Don¡¯t spoil the fun for the guards.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± The bearded man felt his lips and looked at the blood on his fingers. ¡°I¡¯ll die in this hole any other day. I have no laugh to spare for you.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± nodded Torm. ¡°We¡¯ll see each other again; at least once.¡± His words were directed through the barracks, and Sagir nodded along. Torm stayed for just a moment longer, looking at all the prisoners. There was no more attention for Beotold, who hadn¡¯t moved at all. His face was cast in shadows. A grim expression followed the young man and his brigand companion outside. ¡°Fire Festival,¡± repeated Torm one last time before the door fell shut.

 Chapter 42 - Day Twenty-Two

    Chapter 42


    Day Twenty-Two ¨C Sundown


    The peasants had held a sermon at noon, to praise Father Sun at his peak. They asked the Lion for bravery and the Stallion for success. Soon enough, all light was gone, and the Fire Bird would present itself above all. Youth, Life, Hope, Progress, Liberation, Renewal, Passion and Exhaustion. Fire Festival was here. And it would be celebrated like no other.


    They were armed with iron-bound flails, scythes fit for war, as many crossbows, bows and slings as they could muster, and every knife and axe they had. The wagons got transformed into rolling fortresses. With just enough shields to close the gaps. Those who were too frail, too young, or otherwise unfit for war had been left behind. They were tending to each other, including the child brought back by Torm and Ludi. The good folk of Luphton, Penram and Bromwich had made peace with what they¡¯d done. There was nothing to gain but a better future.


    Only Torm and Thyra attended their newfound allies¡¯ spiritual preparations. Franque and his men were joking each other into a good mood. Nancia studied the battle map in full armor, her flamberge planted into the ground next to her. Under a tree, Buron and Breg rested upon each other with their eyes closed. Zaber was with them, giving his body a last break. These battle-hardened men and woman knew that the Stars didn¡¯t answer calls, but stood atop of results.


    At sundown, the first phase of Franque and Zaber¡¯s plan was about to begin. Positioned above the mining camp, at the fringes of the surrounding woods, the brigands and veterans, and Torm and Thyra, had the dusking sun in their faces ¨C to not cast any long shadows. Torches on horseback closed in on the torches behind the walls. Seventeen beasts total, none bred for war, were going back and forth before the palisades, barraging them with slings. Aim didn¡¯t matter, nor any punch behind them. For now, annoyance was all these peasant men had to do. Come in waves, get repulsed by crossbows and threats at a safe distance, and retreat again. Until the stones became flasks of oil and live coals.


    ¡°It is time,¡± said Thyra and pulled the cork from the last vial of thick blackish-red tincture. ¡°Here.¡± She handed it over to Zaber. The villagers had lent her trousers. Her shoulders and chest were protected by an old, thick gambeson from Nancia. Kneeling on the ground, her sword and buckler were ready. Her wild hair was tamed into a tight braid.


    The greasy and unkempt man was able to walk upright again, but every step felt like a jab in the side. With Torm away, Zaber had spoken very few words, lost in thought and preparations. ¡°I¡¯ll get the most out of it,¡± he said, sparing her no eye contact. ¡°I¡¯m¨C¡± he uttered. ¡°If this is the last time, I¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say something you don¡¯t mean,¡± interrupted Thyra, as she looked down at the mining camp. ¡°Are you sure this is going to work? How long will this take?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know what kind of officer and soldiers Beobold and his men were,¡± replied Zaber, without thinking twice. ¡°From what intel we have, I know the kind that¡¯s in charge of a starforsaken place like this. This ain¡¯t a combat post. They didn¡¯t even believe Beobold.¡± He gave his scar a good scratching. ¡°They¡¯ll fuck up when shit gets hot.¡±


    Suddenly, the Stars aligned and a flash of light opened the festivities. Several yards of palisade were set ablaze, accompanied by the howls of horseback slingers. Their torches were easy to spot from afar, and easy to follow.


    ¡°You think Beotold broke his word?¡± asked Torm, his hazy blue eyes fixed on his mentor. He wore Zaber¡¯s gambeson and langes messer again, with the same hauberk and skullcap.


    ¡°No, he¡¯s a different breed of stupid,¡± said Zaber. Memories of old were causing turmoil in the back of his head, today more than ever. ¡°Airich dueled Mur ad-Din for his freedom, no matter what the King wanted.¡±


    ¡°That was right before we met,¡± said Buron. ¡°The King was furious about it. Some would do everything to get what they want, beyond reason.¡± He knelt right next to Breg, who lay on his belly instead of just staying low. Both wore their usual armor. The scrawny veteran gave his crossbow to the peasants, armed with only his falchion. The unreasonably tall man had lost his bardiche, but Roda gave him an excellent replacement. A gold-hilted longsword with scripture on it, similar in size to what Zaber carried.


    Zaber¡¯s armor was still that of Ermin, the cavalrymen they¡¯d captured. But the plackart was too dented to be mended by a common toolsmith, nor could the vambraces be saved. Below the red coat of plates was only maille to protect the greasy and unkempt man¡¯s lower parts. The rest was properly tinned.


    The brigands¡¯ heads were clad in skull caps in kettle helmets, with maille and colorful gambesons beneath. Franque didn¡¯t wear a helmet, and neither did Thyra. But his coat-like gambeson was closed. The brothers Ludi and Asti also gave their polearms to the peasants. A wild collection of knives and shabby falchions spread through all of them. The leather knot that kept Franque¡¯s spiked mace from getting lost was wrapped around his wrist.


    As time went by, the guards down at the mines tried to quench the fire. A horn sounded from behind the gates as it opened, and hooves accompanied it like drums. Three rows of ten riders formed a wedge. Chants echoed through the mountains, as they thundered down the valley.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± nodded Zaber with newfound vigor. His hands and feet were swift again, gone was the pain and sorrows. From now on, everything was ahead of him. Nothing was left behind. ¡°There were two or three officers. Maybe one stayed behind; the rest are only enchanters. Y¡¯all know what¡¯s to do.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Torm closed in on Zaber and held him back at the shoulder.


    ¡°There ain¡¯t much time before reinforcements¨C¡± Zaber walked on, but his apprentice¡¯s grip was firm.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± interrupted Torm, and hugged his mentor. ¡°Thank you for everything.¡±


    ¡°Aww¨C¡± Franque restrained his laughter and voice, but his whole gang had a good chuckle.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t make this icky.¡± Thyra shook her head at the highwaymen. She pulled her sword half-out, but nobody else was doing so. Thus, she pushed it back in. ¡°It¡¯s sweet. You don¡¯t need to act all tough, I¡¯ve seen you and Nancia do the same.¡±


    Franque mustered the witch, clothed in his sister¡¯s spares, with a half-decent grip on her sword. He smirked, raised his hands in defeat and stepped back.


    Zaber stopped when he felt Torm¡¯s embrace. His hands moved on their own, wandering towards his apprentice¡¯s arms. ¡°B¨C¡± He halted. ¡°Torm, all I¡¯ve wanted for you is to have it better than any of the kids I grew up with. All the fun, without what made us¡­ like this.¡± Zaber didn¡¯t dare to turn around, but his words were no whispers. ¡°I failed you. I wish I¨C¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Torm walked around Zaber and looked him in the eye. ¡°This is all I ever wanted. You gave me what you could,¡± he said, keeping himself from choking up. ¡°Let¡¯s do this. Let¡¯s get Sagir and make it out together. Can you promise me that?¡±


    The worn-out veteran¡¯s eyes wandered down, without a response. He held the gauntlet of his hand where a scar mirrored one that Asher had. Zaber looked at Buron and Breg. They initially smiled at Torm¡¯s behavior, but couldn¡¯t do so anymore when their friend faced them. They nodded in unison.


    ¡°¡¯I only made it this far because of you,¡± uttered Zaber. ¡°I¨C¡± When he looked back at Torm, his eyes went past him into the labor camp. ¡°I regret ever meeting you,¡± he said and glimpsed at Thyra. ¡°You too. I didn¡¯t want it to end like this.¡±


    ¡°You folk have to stop being like this,¡± interjected Thyra before Torm could find the right words. She strapped the buckler to her hand pointed at the flames afar. ¡°Revenge first. We¡¯ll all meet again after this and talk, alright?¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod and left Torm behind.


    Everyone put on their helmets and marched on, with Ludi at the helm. Ten men and one woman; a unit. They fanned out when they reached the edge of the woods, in sight of the palisades. Spearheaded by the three strongest among them, Breg, Franque and Zaber, a charge was readied. Armed with pliers and a ladder.


    ¡°Intruders!¡± yelled a pair of guards. More torches and voulge polearms appeared far and wide. ¡°A dozen men from the east!¡±


    Torm kept close to Thyra, as he watched Zaber and Franque run ahead with the ladder. As his mentor and Breg had the best armor, they were climbing up first. He and Thyra waited to go last.


    ¡°Everyone fall in line behind me!¡± yelled Breg, getting hit in the head by a polearm.


    Ludi and Asti had moved to their leader¡¯s flanks to deflect the other guard in his attempts to poke down on them. The unreasonably tall man grabbed the voulge and pulled himself up on it instead of the scales. The guard had to let go and reach for his sidearm, but Breg was as fast as he was strong. Their enemies wore surcoats on top of good maille and solid helmets. When the giant grabbed the cloth of the man that had hit him, he pushed and pulled the man around like he was a doll. One guard was pushed into the other, creating an opening for Breg to swing himself over the palisade. A punch to the guard¡¯s helmet followed, before the colossus threw him down the wooden walls.


    The soldier screamed before he hit the ground. ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± He was surrounded by Franque¡¯s men and their blades. ¡°No! Don¡¯t¨C¡± were his last words.


    Breg drew the gold-hilted longsword and engaged the other guard. Too close for a polearm. More guards were already running towards them. Zaber was the first to follow, closing his visor before jumping over the palisades. Next was an infectious laughter, followed by the brothers, and then the rest. Asti and Ludi picked up their enemy¡¯s polearm, as Breg slammed the next one into the ground.


    The last were Thyra and her bodyguard, whose eyes were glued to the man that fell in front of her feet. Her chest tightened and she gulped, looking at the bleeding face of that guard. Torm gently pushed her forward, away from the dead man. ¡°Turn off your head,¡± he whispered to her. ¡°We gotta go.¡±


    After hopping down the ladder on the other side, Thyra¡¯s heart pumped so hard that she could hear it. The men had fallen into a circle formation. They fended off the first arrivals with ease thanks to the elevated pathway. Buron picked up the next available polearm, and Zaber was the only one who fell back without drawing his weapon.


    ¡°Squadra due, dividetevi,¡± yelled Franque, and the brunt of his brigands branched off. ¡°No time for them to regrouper!¡±


    Torm looked at another murdered guard at his feet and knelt down to pull his arming sword out. ¡°Here!¡± He flung it next to his mentor, who took it with a thumbs up. ¡°We stay back until we get the order,¡± said Torm to Thyra. ¡°Get started.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Thyra twitched, perplexed. She didn¡¯t know what to watch out for, everything was happening at the same time. There was no feeling in her knees anymore. There was no feelings at all, except for her heart and breath. ¡°What?¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Sing,¡± ordered Torm. He led her down the elevation, following the moving circle of protection in front of them. ¡°C¡¯mon, get going. Do your thing!¡±


    ¡°Y¨C, yes,¡± uttered the witch and closed her eyes. One last, deep breath, thinking about her home. About Skratty, the bog and the animals around. Thinking about her mother. She pulled out her sword, joining the buckler in her other hand, and her dramatic mezzo rose. Anything to distract her from what she just saw. ¡°Warmaz at dagaz, still¨© in ta nahts¡­¡±


    Chaos had erupted around them. Many guards were looking for more intruders, some were working to extinguish the fire at the gate. Few were running towards the conic huts and barracks. Revolting screams came from the buildings, accentuated by violent coughs. Orders were going back and forth between the soldiers, and it was clear that nobody was in charge right now.


    ¡°Move out!¡± commanded Zaber before another wave of guards could pin them down. More polearms came into their possessions. They knew that they could only repel small units. Drill and experience made all the difference when they split up and outmaneuvered the charging soldiers.


    Franque made his way towards an unguarded hut, defended by Ludi and Asti. Zaber had Buron and Breg at his back, and Torm and Thyra at his side. The greasy and unkempt man kicked the drawbar up and the door in. With a warm song and his friends behind him, he rushed to the latticed gate with rioting bald men behind it. An arming sword in his right hand, a plier in his left, and Airich¡¯s longsword resting at his hip.


    ¡°Furi ta flut?z rinnan? dr¨±giz anti ta f¨­r rinnan? wiltijaz¡­¡± sang Thyra, as loud as she could. Torm squeezed his waterskin over the wooden structure and pulled out a flint. The flames were hungry on this holy day, as the walls of the mining huts were set ablaze and Breg and Buron kept more soldiers at bay.


    The first prisoners were breaking out of their burning huts, led by Franque¡¯s men to free even more of them. Be it with wooden planks, picks, or shovels, the mob used what they had. Zaber could hear their angry voices, as he handed the plier to an old bald prisoner in the front. ¡°Kill them,¡± he said. ¡°Fire Bird has blessed us with one last chance. Kill as many as you can.¡±


    Filled with rage and liberated, the captives screamed their lungs out. At least those who still could. The couple guards that were pressing onto Breg and Buron were stormed by men in rags. They died and they lived, and they took weapons from them.


    Zaber stepped out from behind them and nodded at his friends. ¡°Y¡¯all know your targets,¡± he said. His neck burned as hot as the barracks behind him, and Thyra¡¯s beautiful song was drowned out by Brenz screaming him down. ¡°Kill them.¡±


    The unreasonably tall man and his bald companion lost no time and moved on. Torm looked at the young woman and raised his blade. ¡°Stay next to me,¡± he said, looking onward. ¡°If something¡¯s wrong, tell me.¡±


    ¡°Go,¡± ordered Zaber, before sprinting away, and Torm did as he was told.


    ¡°He¡¯s either in the center, or the main complex,¡± said Torm and pointed at the giant bloomery, which was the source of most of the smog. As he walked on, Thyra followed.


    ¡°Or he¡¯s there,¡± uttered Thyra and stared at a man far away, surrounded by guards. He yelled confused commands, and sent troops all over the place. His clothes were unfit for an officer. The witch thought she spotted him trying to hide behind the soldiers when faced with picks and shovels.


    ¡°I think that¡¯s the other enchanter.¡± The young man squinted to see better what came their way. He drew his own bauernwehr with his left and picked up speed. ¡°Sing on, and keep up.¡±


    Never had Thyra sweated as much as today. Climbing those mountains had already pushed her to her limit. Only her pounding heart kept her going. Her song fueled every flame it reached. Smoke filled the area, and her eyes with tears. She and her mother had celebrated Fire Festival roasting apples. This was a nightmare.


    Torm¡¯s pathing didn¡¯t make it easier on his companion. He tried to avoid all fighting ¨C their mission was to take out the big ones before they could join the fray. The riots were growing, and the soldiers had no mind for those that could easily be mistaken for their own. But when Thyra and her bodyguard closed in on the buildings in the middle of the camp, two guards ran straight towards a compound.


    ¡°We charge them,¡± said Torm, stepping it up a notch. ¡°Keep my back clean, I¡¯ll handle the rest.¡±


    ¡°Y¨C¡± Thyra halted her song. Her breath trembled and she grabbed her side with her buckler-hand. ¡°Yes, understood!¡±


    The soldiers had the same goal as them, and didn¡¯t expect a fight on their way. Too late did they notice Torm running into the one closer to them. Pulling his polearm to the side, their young assailant was already too close. He kept the voulge away with his mentor¡¯s longer blade, and slashed at the soldier¡¯s face with the shorter one ¨C barely missing it. Torm followed up with a front kick, pushing the soldiers into each other. The first foe tripped over.


    Thyra was taught about threat ranges and distances. Everything happened so fast, but she saw the other soldier step in to attack her bodyguard. Her buckler punched the polearm to the side, but she didn¡¯t dare to step closer and attack. However, Torm didn¡¯t let an opportunity go by like that. He moved on, never stopped, and wrapped his arm around the pole of the voulge to trap it. Too close to swing steel now, he punched the soldier in the mouth with the hilt and tackled him to the ground. A quick scuffle later and the young man mounted his opponent. He pushed his blade under the maille on his neck.


    The wild woman¡¯s legs did not obey her. Watching Torm, her heart and breath stopped. Her bodyguard wasn¡¯t moving either. His whole weight rested on the hilt of his bauernwehr and he let go of the other blade for a moment. But that was already too long, as the other soldier had also let go of his main weapon, and leapt at Torm with a metal mace. The young man was hit in the head, rolled to the side and soon enough the guard and him were wrestling for control. Both lost their weapons, punched each other in the armor or face, until Torm was on top again. With his hunting knife pressed against the soldier¡¯s lips.


    ¡°I y¨C¡± stammered the guard. ¡°I yielrgh¡­¡±


    Torm pulled the blade out of his foe¡¯s mouth and fell to the side. His gaze was fixed on the Constellation of Fire Bird. With its wings spread wide and the prominent big Star in the middle of its chest ¨C only to be seen on this day of year. He felt his guts moving and coughed to keep himself from throwing up.


    Thyra screamed to bring Torm back, stepping in front of his iron-clad head. ¡°Zaber said¨C¡± she stuttered. ¡°He said to never go to the ground. Hitting the ground means you¡¯re dead!¡± She spoke fast, breathing uncontrollably. ¡°Never do that again! Never!¡±


    ¡°We gotta move,¡± replied Torm and rose up. He looked for his blades, and felt a stream of blood running down from his forehead to his eye. Right beneath where the helmet stopped, above his brow. ¡°Move,¡± he repeated, feeling the wound with two fingers.


    The stone house right next to a smelter wasn¡¯t far, and there had to be a reason for these men to run towards it. Thyra looked back at the two dead bodies one more time, as did Torm, before they ran again. Where she slowed down, before the door, Torm became faster. With a scream, he threw himself leg-first against the wood and broke a plank. His foot was stuck for the length of another scream, before he kicked the door right next to the lock. Splintered but open, he stepped inside with both blades in front of him.


    A startled squeal gave Genhard away, sitting on a bed with a straw mattress. The room¡¯s inside was sparse: a work table, a stool, a bed and a chest. Plenty of barrels and crates with engraving and mining tools. The blonde man with the flowing sideburns cowered behind a pauldron he held up. His armor was scattered around him, only the chestplate strapped on.


    ¡°Wait!¡± he cried out. ¡°Hear me out!¡± Genhard¡¯s face was colored in fear and pain. He let go of the metal and held his collar bone, bending forwards with a distorted grimace.


    ¡°Last words or song, you¡¯re de¨C¡± Torm walked closer, pointing both blades at the patrician¡¯s face.


    ¡°Why should we?!¡± interrupted Thyra, waiting in the door¡¯s frame. ¡°You killed my¨C¡± Her song was paused, which she regretted the moment she thought about her mother. Deeper and more threatening than ever, the Song of Father Sun¡¯s Wrath resumed.


    ¡°I¨C¡± yammered Genhard. ¡°Please!¡± he threw up his good hand, trying to keep the young man at bay. ¡°Let me speak, I¨C¡± Seeing no mercy in Torm¡¯s eyes, the enchanter opened his hand and thrust it forward. ¡°Ego ventil¨­!¡± rang his sonorous tenor, and a gust of wind pushed Thyra against the frame and forced Torm to brace his entire body against it. He did not flinch though. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die for them. Please, I beg you, please. Listen to me!¡± Genhard slipped down from the edge of the bed, onto his knees. ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight anymore.¡±


    ¡°Wha¨C¡± Thyra¡¯s song came to an end. Once again proven to be the inferior magician. Lowering her guard, she entered the cabin. ¡°Torm, wait. Let him speak.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Torm, stepping in front of the enchanter. The tip of both blades grazed against Genhard¡¯s neck.


    ¡°Please,¡± Genhard¡¯s tenor rose. ¡°Ego¨C¡±


    ¡°Torm!¡± yelled Thyra so loud, her mezzo shattering through her bodyguard, making him flinch. ¡°What is happening? You are not like them,¡± she pleaded. ¡°Give him a chance. Don¡¯t become¡­ please.¡±


    Looking down on Genhard, Torm lowered his blades. The patrician shivered all over his body, sweat rolling down behind his chestplate. But he stopped his spell. ¡°I don¡¯t have the time for this,¡± said Torm. ¡°We need to finish this and join the others. Zaber¡¯s about to¨C¡± He stopped. His eyes and the patrician¡¯s were so close in color. ¡°Speak up, guildsman. Now.¡± He had inherited them from his father¡¯s side¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m not a soldier.¡± Genhard exhaled and his body collapsed. He tried to not touch Torm, but came close to it. ¡°I¡¯m an enchanter. I don¡¯t want to die like a dog; not for that arsehole Beotold, nor anyone else. Neither do I want to poison myself in this camp, or fight any of you anymore. I am sorry for what I had to do. They made me. The witch, your friend¡­ none of this. Please, just leave me be and I promise you that you¡¯ll never see me again.¡±


    Thyra stood behind her friend, looking over his shoulder at her mother¡¯s murderer. Tears of anger, sorrow and turmoil rolled down her cheeks, and her hands trembled until she let go of the sword and buckler. She was taught to not hide her true self. ¡°Let him be,¡± she said. ¡°Let¡¯s move on. Rescue Zaber from himself.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Torm once again. ¡°You¡¯re coming with us.¡± He grabbed Genhard at the straps of his chestplate and pulled him on his feet. ¡°If you hate these arseholes as much as you say, you¡¯ll help us against them. You¡¯ll free these poor motherfuckers with us. And you will protect my friends from Beotold and Romund¡¯s spells.¡± Torm held the patrician so close to his own face that the blood from the wound on his forehead left a mark on Genhard. ¡°Do you understand me, or do you want to fight me?¡±


    The enchanter swallowed, twitching under a surge of pain. He looked past Torm, and Thyra nodded. Genhard nodded as well. ¡°My bone¡¯s still shattered from that monster. I don¡¯t know any healing spells.¡±


    ¡°His name was Skratty,¡± said Thyra and walked up on Genhard. ¡°I¡¯ll fix you if we survive.¡± She extended a hand towards him, which he took. ¡°Let me help you.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± uttered the patrician. ¡°I¡¯ve never killed before. It felt terri¨C¡±


    ¡°If you mess with us, I¡¯ll murder you,¡± interrupted Torm and turned around. He patted his clothes and armor, brought himself in order, before walking outside. He searched the battlefield. ¡°We¡¯re not slowing down for you.¡±

 Chapter 43 - Day Twenty-Two

    Chapter 43


    Day Twenty-Two ¨C Night


    Flames expanded. Flickering lights surrounded Buron and Breg as they moved with a swarm of prisoners. They hadn¡¯t exchanged a single word since Zaber had given them his last order. The fear of being alone after this night, just the two of them, lingered in their spines. Every now and then they guided the revolting crowd. They accompanied them to find tools and pressed them into position. The enthusiasm of these captives, filled with hope, was the only thing that kept the scrawny and giant veterans going. The tools that were killing the prisoners were reversed now.


    Four soldiers took position around a canopy with sealed barrels underneath it. Crossbow bolts buzzed around as other groups of prisoners were storming the palisades. The unreasonably tall man and his bald companion struggled to shake off the freed. Something about Breg made folk stick to him in battle. ¡°Follow the beast,¡± and ¡°Nobody will mess with something like that¡± were among the nicest things that Buron had heard.


    ¡°Attack!¡± yelled Breg and pointed at the guards near the canopy. ¡°Buron, throw,¡± he added when the rioters didn¡¯t move.


    The scrawny veteran flipped the looted voulge around, threw his arm back and flung it toward their enemies to lead the way. The crowd charged after it, and Breg let himself fall back. This wasn¡¯t his and Buron¡¯s first battle, unlike many of these unfortunate souls. But there was no time to waste ¨C the big ones were waiting for them.


    ¡°Take their weapons and helmets after you kill them!¡± screamed Buron, gaining little attention from the prisoners.


    ¡°There¡¯s more coming,¡± said Breg, grabbing his companion¡¯s shoulder and directing him at two more soldiers. They were running to their well-lined up comrades¡¯ aid, about to take the prisoner¡¯s flank.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time for¨C¡± Buron halted and unsheathed his falchion. ¡°One good deed?¡±


    ¡°Fuck no,¡± grunted the unreasonably tall man. A bolt hit the back of his barbute helmet. He turned around, but there was no way to find the source. Too many men were fighting, and too much smoke was building from the spreading fires. ¡°Once.¡± Breg nodded and raised the excellent blade that Roda gave him.


    The soldiers noticed the colossus coming for them. And how couldn¡¯t they? For a man of his size, he was also fast. They both took position towards him, sticking their polearms in front of them. Buron moved behind Breg, whose armor was like a shield for the scrawny veteran. When the unreasonably tall man blocked the first voulge, close to his body, Breg stepped deeper inside their enemies¡¯ range. The second attack, at the same time, only hit him on the shoulder with the wooden pole. A retracting cut was not able to go through the plated maille. The bald former mercenary wasn¡¯t that fast, but Buron knew how an opening looked like when he saw one. Leaping around Breg so that he would only face one of the guards, Buron hacked and slashed forward with his falchion. What he lacked in precision, the bald man made up in numbers.


    One guard got hit so hard against his maille and helmet that his muscles gave in. The other one was felled in one strike. Breg controlled his foe¡¯s weapon by keeping his blade bound to it, after which he let go of one hand. He held the voulge of the soldier down and thrust the longsword into his face. Meanwhile, Buron was still crushing the other one¡¯s bones. Until he happened to hit him under the helmet and end his struggle.


    ¡°You done?¡± asked Breg, pulling the longsword out of the soldier¡¯s skull. He lifted the voulge from the corpse¡¯s hands.


    ¡°You know me,¡± replied Buron, wiping the sweat off his neck. ¡°It takes me longer than you.¡± The bald man grinned, squinted, and picked up the other polearm.


    The prisoners weren¡¯t as effective, weakened and sick, but their mass was on their side. The unreasonably tall man bumped the hilt of his weapon against his bald companion¡¯s shoulder. Smiling, he took both polearms into his giant palm. He walked close enough to the rioting crowd to hand them to the nearest captive. The man looked scared and thrilled at the same time.


    ¡°Take their weapons and helmets before you move on!¡± he yelled, and turned his back on them again. ¡°Never stop.¡±


    Breg and Buron made their way through the camp alone afterwards. They heard the guards around them. Some gave, and some followed orders, but most were headless chickens by that point. The former mercenaries knew that this was crucial to their success. Most battles were won by breaking an enemy, not overwhelming them. ¡°Not that thing!¡± and ¡°We can¡¯t stop that!¡± were among the ones that hurt the most. Others might have reveled in it, but Buron knew how much Breg hated to be viewed like that. Less than human. A tool. Without anything to fight, the tall veteran had nothing to distract himself with. His bald companion expected his mind to be shut off by now. All while the flames consumed the place, and Thyra¡¯s song was not even a distant noise anymore.


    What led them through the camp were the occasional screams for an officer ¨C one that did not belong to these soldiers. But nobody had taken over, and it was Franque¡¯s task to find the other enchanter.


    ¡°Ego tremor!¡± boomed a far reaching bass, demanding the duo¡¯s attention. Planks and stones rattled, and the ground moved. Men closer to the epicenter lost balance, no matter if guard or prisoner.


    The unreasonably tall man and his bald companion turned around and found a familiar sight. A man in full armor. Romund talked to none of the soldiers, gave no orders, and made an attempt to move. He stood in front of the burning main gate, the motte and bailey close by.


    ¡°I have my orders,¡± sounded Romund from afar, his hounskull helmet reflecting the flames around him. ¡°Nobody will leave the camp.¡±


    ¡°Self-indulgent arseholes,¡± said Buron as he trotted behind Breg. He kept his distance from his colossal companion, circling left and right to keep an eye on the knight. ¡°Worst kind of nob.¡±


    The soldiers that were desperately trying to contain the fire fled as they witnessed the nobleman draw his bastard sword. ¡°I hoped it¡¯d be you,¡± said Romund. With the raging fire as the only light source, it was hard to see if the arcanium inside the scripture was replenished or not. ¡°You or that frog-mouthed man.¡± He grabbed the blade and took a stance, waiting for the veterans to come closer. ¡°A knight is worth one hundred, they say. But in your case, it might only be ten.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the first officer I¡¯m facing,¡± grizzled Breg, a grim visage flashing through the slits of his helmet.


    ¡°You¡¯re used to being worth more as ransom,¡± said Buron, keeping himself out of Romund¡¯s view behind Breg. ¡°You¡¯ll die a boring death today.¡±


    Romund lowered his sword into a guard and shifted his feet into range. The scrawny man kept himself out of their enemy¡¯s reach, but held his falchion ready. He knew that, no matter how gifted Breg was, he was only a man. A beautiful man of blood and bones, made of muscle. Buron had always been in the back of a battle, not trained as a man-at-arms like his friends. But the only way to kill the knight was by distracting him, surprising him, and silencing him. Buron was as prepared as ever, seeing the love of his life shift his feet and rest his longsword on his shoulder ¨C ready to strike.


    ¡°Where did you get that?¡± asked Romund¡¯s menacingly low voice, as the men shifted closer toward each other on their soles. ¡°You¡¯re not tricking me, like your worthless friend.¡±


    Breg snapped forward with a swift and powerful swing that would easily behead any mere man. An ardent chant, ¡°D¨¡ mihi celerit¨¡tem¡±, interrupted the attack. The knight outpaced the taller man and thrust between the incoming attack. More than a mere block, he overtook the central line of the fight and struck down Breg¡¯s arms. Before Romund could push the bastard sword between the gaps of the plated maille, Buron¡¯s falchion smashed against his visor. Breg pushed back at the moment that the lieutenant¡¯s head snapped to the side.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°D¨C, da¨C¡± stuttered Romund, tumbling backwards. ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s!¡± The inscriptions on his lower arms burned red with the sloppy verse. The swords and hands of the armored men were still entangled. Thus, the knight threw the tall commoner to the side.


    ¡°Arms mended!¡± reported Buron. He swept back in and smashed his falchion against Romund¡¯s mailled neck.


    The lieutenant stumbled one more step before finding his footing again. He turned his head towards Buron, unfazed. ¡°Right, you¡¯re also here,¡± he said, with a grinding undertone. ¡°Ego¨C¡±


    Rolling across the ground, Breg caught himself in a kneeling position. He swung his sword at the knight¡¯s legs without aim. Not much of a hit, it was enough for the unreasonably tall man to land between Romund¡¯s greaves. As the giant got back on his foot, he levered his enemy off the ground.


    ¡°Move¨­ terram,¡± chanted the knight, also not thinking about his next action anymore. The earth beneath them moved, like the hiccup this spell was, and loosened the soil for a brief moment. Only long enough for Breg to slip while standing up, faltering out of reach. With Buron moving back and forth whenever there was an opening. His feet sunk into the ground just an inch, twisting his leg.


    ¡°Da¨C¡± The bass was interrupted once again. The scrawny veteran fell forward, and hit the knight¡¯s elbow, to no effect. ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s,¡± repeated Romund. No part of his armor glowed, as he kicked Buron in the chest, flinging him over the ground.


    Using this opening, Breg got upright again and thrust his sword into the gap of Romund¡¯s armor ¨C right at the armpit. A deep and throaty ¡°Argh!¡± rang from the knight, as he contorted backwards. It was too dark to see blood, and Breg was watching after Buron. He still moved.


    The unreasonably tall man did as he was taught ¨C make an advantage count. With imperfect footwork, he pursued the nobleman. One hand at the hilt, the other at the blade, half-swording the enemy into a bind. The thin layer between Romund¡¯s helmet and his gorget was only maille to pierce through.


    ¡°Ego immobilis,¡± wheezed the lieutenant. With a red burn from his legs, Romund became immovable to even the strongest man. He wrapped his own hands around Breg¡¯s forearms, keeping away the giant¡¯s sword, but the man close. ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s!¡± sung the bass, with regained composure. He let himself fall back and dragged Breg with him. One foot on the former mercenary¡¯s hip, and he got catapulted over his foe in full motion.


    Buron pushed himself up. He felt every bone in his body, needing to use his falchion as a crutch to get on his feet. His knee gave in when he saw the tallest, biggest man in the world ¨C his everything ¨C fly through the air like he was a very heavy pebble.


    ¡°No, Breg!¡± he yelled, grabbing the air as if he could catch Breg. Even thinking about running made his knee hurt, which gave Romund more than enough time to stand up. The knight¡¯s posture had lost grandeur. He looked hurt. ¡°Fuck off, you pr¨C¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± nodded Romund and turned towards Buron. ¡°You¡¯re next.¡± Fully armored, he wasn¡¯t in a rush to reach the scrawny veteran. A weak hit with the falchion didn¡¯t stop him either. ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s,¡± sung the bass again, like a bark. He held his bastard sword in one hand, clashing the back of his free gauntlet against another futile attack coming from Buron. The falchion flung to the side, dented. The scrawny man¡¯s hand trembled from the hit.


    ¡°Is the frog-mouth here too?¡± Before he got to Buron, he turned around once more, holding his armpit. ¡°I¡¯ll slaughter each of you traitors.¡± He knelt down and picked up the sword that Roda gave Breg. Holding the blade against the flames, he read the engraved spells. The knight¡¯s breath showed itself.


    Crashed onto the ground, Breg was conscious but couldn¡¯t move. Good armor prevented the worst, but it added weight to the fall. All air was pushed out of him, but he heard every word. He also felt a kick against his legs that made him twitch.


    ¡°Good,¡± said Romund, as his head towered over Breg¡¯s sight, looking down on him. ¡°Shame if you missed this.¡± The knight¡¯s rhythm returned, as he stomped on the giant¡¯s chest. ¡°Ego tremor!¡±


    The earth shook furiously and Breg screamed at the top of his lungs, but no sound left his open maw. An unthinkable pain entered his body and left it through his back, into the ground. Breaths felt like an eternity and it was as if Breg sensed everything at once. His eyes were torn open, but he couldn¡¯t see anything until the spell stopped and his body went numb.


    Jumping at Romund from behind, a scrawny body wrapped itself around the knight. Buron grabbed his helmet and swordarm. There was no technique, no control. Only raw emotion drove the balding man. He could not allow Breg to die, and he screamed this feeling out with unintelligible pants and groans.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had it with you.¡± Romund struck his elbows backwards. He jumped up and let himself fall, squashing Buron like the bug he was. The knight¡¯s armpit felt wet, but his innards were spared. While still in the air, he ripped open his visor, to sing another verse: ¡°Ego trem¨­ribus!¡±


    Sure of his victory, everything was put into this spell. Everything his voice touched was trembling; shaking. The ground split open, and the burning gate collapsed, as did the closest barracks and huts. Romund¡¯s voice spanned hundreds of feet. Prisoners and guards alike were disrupted by it. The lieutenant laid down in bitter exhaustion, on top of his enemy. But when he reopened his eyes, he wasn¡¯t met with the starlit sky, smog or smoke. What he saw was a monstrosity, barely illuminated by the flames. Without his helmet, a bearded colossus towered over him, dripping with blood. Breg was hunched over and his body still trembled.


    ¡°Ego fulgara,¡± uttered the knight in an unfit bass for that kind of spell, only producing a meager spark. It died off too soon, as he thrust it against Breg¡¯s dented plates to electrocute him. Instead, a feeble sound of metal on metal rang. Nothing happened, as he listened to the battle around them and stared at Breg.


    ¡°D¨­¨CF¨¡¨CT¨©¨C¡± Genhard overloaded the area with magic. He wasn¡¯t sure he could have done it if Romund was at full strength. But forcing his Will onto him was easy the way he was right now. ¡°Ego trah¨­ ferrum,¡± sang the patrician when he noticed a lack of resistance from the knight. Dragging the longsword out of Romund¡¯s hand and into his own. Catching it sent a surge of pain through the enchanter. Thyra held him up, while Torm led him from behind.


    ¡°We¡¯re here!¡± yelled Torm at his allies, but Breg didn¡¯t react.


    ¡°Get up,¡± grizzled the unreasonably tall man quietly. ¡°Get up from him!¡± he repeated, and grabbed the knight by the helmet. One pull later, Romund found himself standing up and the hounskull ripped from his head.


    Romund was covered in sweat, his beard and hair ruffled. Unable to turn his head, he glimpsed at Genhard. ¡°Miserable¨C¡± he uttered, promptly shut up by a punch that broke his nose and sent him back onto the ground, away from Buron. The knight knew that raising his voice was futile.


    ¡°Get. Up.¡± The colossal man knelt over the motionless body of his enemy. Blood dripped on the knight¡¯s face.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Torm ran past Genhard with raised arms. ¡°Breg, wait.¡± The giant threw another punch and readied another one. He only stopped when his friend¡¯s apprentice laid hands on him, but his gaze was still fixated on his foe. The witch and the enchanter came to a halt close by and saw that Romund¡¯s eyes were closed. He was still breathing. ¡°Don¡¯t kill him,¡± said Torm.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Thyra blinked. She let Genhard stand on his own, and put her hands on Breg¡¯s chest, feeling the dented armor. The unreasonably tall man didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°Are you hurt?¡±


    ¡°You there.¡± Torm turned around and waved Genhard over. ¡°I want you to kill him,¡± he said with no shift in tone. The open cut above his eye was still bleeding, with a crust building on his eyebrow from the surrounding heat. When Genhard took a step backwards, the young man grabbed the patrician¡¯s arm that held the longsword. ¡°Do it,¡± he ordered, staring. ¡°If you want to survive this.¡±


    When Breg heard Torm¡¯s order, his tone, he shook his head. Wiping his face, straightening his beard, the tall giant walked away and sank to his knees next to Buron. Thoroughly, he checked his bald companion¡¯s chest and stroked his face. ¡°Still breathing,¡± he whispered, and took off his mailled gloves. ¡°I need¨C¡± He looked at Torm. ¡°I need to get him out.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± nodded the young man.


    ¡°Go,¡± muttered Breg. ¡°Go save my friend.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll sing for both your health,¡± said Thyra and put a hand on Breg¡¯s back. She looked at Buron¡¯s oddly peaceful face. ¡°I¨C¡± Her eyes wandered over to Genhard, who¡¯s grip on the sword lacked resolve. He gulped, and Thyra knew how he felt. ¡°I should leave with you. My work is done, and I¡¯m not made for this.¡±


    One of the conic huts and barracks that were on the other side of the motte and bailey suddenly crashed. It sunk into the ground and broke apart. Beyond the crackling and sizzles, there was a song that didn¡¯t stem from rioting.


    ¡°F¨C¡± Torm¡¯s entire body jerked around, as he knew that building. He ran. He just ran. ¡°Follow!¡± was his last order.


    Thyra sighed, but did as she was told. A risen Breg shouldered his beloved. He looked down on the patrician who struggled to leave his old life behind. But there was no going back.


    He exhaled, twisted the hilt of the longsword, and held it up to Romund¡¯s throat. ¡°I want to go home.¡±

 Chapter 44 - Day Zero

    Chapter 44


    Day Zero ¨C Evening


    An ocean of bonfires and torches lit up a late winter field in the earldom of Belge. Clouds denied even the smallest speck of natural light. The landscape had been painted white to the depth of a foot, in the shadow of a water castle. If one was looking far enough, a couple of villages were peppered around the bivouac. A long line of hardened men and camp followers was coming to an end. Just a few were left in front of an open blue and red tent that housed empty chests, a sturdy table, and two men behind it. One sat, while the other stood.


    ¡°Name, unit, length of service,¡± said an old, frail man with one motionless eye and gold teeth. A cane rested against the table, next to a pile of books and papers he held a quill in his scraggy hand. He wore a good coat of padded armor, with a shawl and a nice hat with a wide brim.


    ¡°Hardbek, first regiment¡¯s rear guard,¡± said a man, armed with a falchion in two layers of wool. ¡°Your unit, sarge.¡± He fiddled with his coif to rub his ears warm, after which he held out a hand, nodding at the other man behind the chair.


    The old man looked up from his papers, and stopped searching for that name. ¡°Do I look like I remember y¡¯all¡¯s name? How long¡¯ve you been around?¡±


    Hardbek blew hot breath into his hands. ¡°Five years or so,¡± he said, huffed. ¡°Zaber, how long have I been hanging around?¡±


    ¡°Bit more,¡± replied the younger man from the back. He wore an old arming cap, with an even older, worn out gambeson and a blanket as a cloak. ¡°You¡¯re a spring recruit.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Hardbek sneezed. ¡°Could¡¯ve sworn it was summer ¨C right after the Da?ken campaign.¡±


    ¡°Da?ken was later than you think it was,¡± said Zaber, already opening a chest filled with coins. ¡°Trust me.¡±


    ¡°If you say so.¡± The soldier shrugged and winked thankful when the old man averted his eyes to skim through the books again. ¡°Who am I to doubt you.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± murmurs the sergeant through his gold teeth. ¡°Let¡¯s make it five and a half years. Nothing special, but trained for the lines. That¡¯s your average pay, sixty-six gulden per constellation.¡±


    ¡°Real nice of the old man to send us off like this,¡± said Hardbek. He rubbed his hands in anticipation of what Zaber sorted out of the remaining chests.


    ¡°Our general¡¯s reputation is his legacy,¡± said the old sergeant, crossing out another name of many crossed out names. ¡°Better us than his kin, is what he said.¡±


    ¡°Here.¡± Zaber placed a bunch of griffin-stamped coins on the table, neatly sorted by the three types: thaler, gulden and groschen.


    ¡°Damned right,¡± said the soldier, swiping his last payment into his coif. ¡°How long before we have to split?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say,¡± the old man retracted his bony fingers into his armpits. ¡°Y¡¯all will be informed when our Honourable General ascends to the Stars. We¡¯ll have one last ceremonial line-up to march him around his holdings. What happens next is up to his heir.¡±


    ¡°Lovely.¡± The mercenary emptied the coif into a leather bag on his belt, only half-listening. ¡°Later!¡± he said, waving himself out. ¡°You around, Zaber? We should have a last drink together. Like¡­ all of us.¡±


    The greasy and unkempt man looked past his fellow soldier. He saw the last man standing behind him, and whose heads peeked around the corner. ¡°I ain¡¯t sure. Likely? There¡¯s still a lot to get done,¡± he said dryly. ¡°Asher? Y¡¯all got everything prepped like I asked you?¡±


    ¡°All set up, and this here¡¯s the last. We¡¯re only waiting for you,¡± replied a voice around the tent. ¡°Airich wants to see you when you¡¯re done,¡± he said, as if it was a given.


    ¡°Officers still dicking around his tent?¡± Zaber scratched the scar along his jawline. He looked exhausted, and even more tense than usual. ¡°How¡¯s the boy?¡±


    ¡°Son, that¡¯s not how to speak about our fine officer corps.¡± The sergeant knocked on the table before Asher could answer. He watched Hardbek leaving, and stared at the last soldier in line. ¡°These noble souls are keeping the dying Dragon company, and his estate from the vultures.¡±


    ¡°Get your head out of your arse, Brenz.¡± The younger mercenary slapped the old man on the shoulder, hurting him just enough to get a laugh out of him. ¡°They¡¯re all the same, hoping to inherit the regiments and our contracts before he kicks the bucket.¡±


    ¡°They took good care of us. It¡¯s like losing a father to all of us,¡± said Brenz in a soothing voice, causing Zaber¡¯s pupils to shrink. ¡°Last one, step in! Name, unit, length of service.¡±


    ¡°Joyen, also rear guard,¡± said a young man, barely scratching twenty. He entered in a thin gambeson and gugel, with an axe at his belt. ¡°Ten? About ten?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Snappy, old man. Your other eye¡¯s fucked too, ain¡¯t it?¡± The greasy and unkempt mercenary was already gathering coins. ¡°It¡¯s damned time you settle somewhere; find someone to take care of you.¡±


    ¡°Easy,¡± cackled Brenz. ¡°Just have to find one of my hundred bastards.¡± He turned page after page, until he drew the last line. ¡°Nothing special, no line training. Just marauding and supply shit,¡± he said, shaking his head, which made Snappy uncomfortable. ¡°Thirty-eight groschen per constellation.¡±


    ¡°I taught him to ride as a raider, give him two more for that,¡± said Zaber, putting his hand on Brenz¡¯ shoulder again. ¡°I was about to recommend him for light cavalry training.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± groaned Brenz. ¡°Make it an even number. Your call.¡± His gaze was filled with spite, forcing Snappy to avert his own. ¡°Barely made it to private, don¡¯t think I forgot.¡±


    ¡°Cut him some slack, he made it.¡± Zaber put the coins on the table and walked around it. He got in line, right behind Snappy and padded him on the arm to send him off with a smile. ¡°That¡¯s it. We¡¯re done,¡± said Zaber and stepped in front of the table after Brenz waved him in. It was like a ritual the two performed. ¡°Just you and me left. Corporal Zaber, eighteen years. Double-merc, supply runs, arson, raids, and murder. Every bad in the book; short of yours.¡±


    ¡°I bet the General will give you some extra later ¨C for being his orderly.¡± Brenz closed the book and got up in his chair. He had to brace himself on the table to count the coins for Zaber. ¡°You joined in the summer. Four thaler and thirty gulden each; enough to live a luxurious life ¡®til next summer,¡± said the sergeant, looking at each piece of precious metal before putting it on the table. ¡°You and the fellas joining a banner in the region?¡±


    ¡°Hrmph.¡± Zaber waited patiently with arms crossed. ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± he rasped. ¡°I just wanna do nothing for a while. See where that boy belongs. You finally retiring?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± nodded Brenz and picked up his cane. ¡°Thought about it for three years. But then the General got sick. Didn¡¯t feel right for me to leave him like this. I¡¯ve been here since he founded his first free banner.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight,¡± murmured Zaber with a darkened face, staring at the back of this piece of shit. The mercenary understood damned well that Brenz could count faster. This whole charade of getting the coins close to his working eye, fiddling around and even letting some of them slip his hand. Zaber had known this motherfucker ever since he arrived with the others, like Yann. Everything this man did was to make others feel small. Pretend to show them the ropes. Force them to¡­ the longer the soon-to-be former mercenary waited, the closer his nails wandered to the scar on his jaw.


    ¡°Here we go.¡± Brenz pushed the whole pile of coins over the table with a smirk. ¡°Please count it. I don¡¯t want to do you dirty, son.¡± At this point, Asher, Buron and Breg stood at the entrance of the tent ¨C right behind their friend. Looking at his twitching shoulders. Slowly, the sergeant walked around the table. ¡°You would have been my successor, you know,¡± he said, while Zaber took his place and left his payout where it was. ¡°But you were just too good at this game. Too young still; too healthy. Imagine how many would have gone unmurde¨C¡±


    Zaber sat down where Brenz used to sit and opened the book again. ¡°Name, unit, length of service,¡± he said, emotionless.


    ¡°First sergeant Brenz,¡± said the old man, straightening up. ¡°Forty-eight years. Rear guard of the original regiment. Joined in the fall after getting kicked out of the city guard of our glorious King¡¯s capital. Double-pay, supply¨C¡±


    ¡°Everything,¡± interrupted Zaber. He grabbed a small, unopened chest that sat right under the table; prepared. He didn¡¯t look at the book at all, when he crossed out this one last name. ¡°Take all of this and run with it. Spend it on good folk or give it to a temple. You have a lot of wrongs to right.¡±


    ¡°Zab¨C¡±


    ¡°I never want to see you again.¡±


    ¡°Zaber, I¨C¡± The old man¡¯s lips trembled. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he uttered, and clenched his cane. For the first time, he sounded exactly as old and frail as he looked. ¡°Nothing I did w¨C¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe a single word you¡¯re about to say.¡± The corporal¡¯s hands became fists, pressing down on the table. ¡°With the chain-of-command gone, I want you to know that I¡¯ll not hesitate to bleed you out, dump you into the closest river and sell your teeth if we ever meet again.¡±


    An excruciating gasp squeezed out of Brenz¡¯ throat when he lifted the small chest. He needed two hands for it. Nobody took his cane for him, or even came closer. ¡°Understood,¡± he said. ¡°I just wish we¨C¡± He looked behind himself, with Asher, Breg and Buron looking down on him. ¡°I just wish we could have one last salute for each other. For old time¡¯s sake?¡±


    Before the sergeant could finish, Zaber was already on his feet. His stance was sloppy, and his hand barely came close to his head before he pointed Brenz outside. He gave him this meaningless, half-assed last salute to show him that none of this mattered anymore. But the old-timer stiffened up properly for one last time. After that he limped outside. None of them even hinted at giving him a raised hand or even a nod. Asher jerked his head forwards, as if he would headbutt him if he came too close.


    ¡°Fuck off,¡± said Asher, and spat on the former sergeant¡¯s feet with a smirk.


    More than a moment went by before Brenz was out of hearing range. Zaber took his payout over to his friends and stared around the corner until he was sure that man was gone.


    ¡°We can still lay an ambush on him,¡± said Breg, with everyone giggling in response.


    ¡°Let¡¯s forget that he ever existed,¡± replied Buron, patting Zaber on the back. ¡°Gonna head over to Airich¡¯s?¡±


    Asher put a finger inside the leather bag in which his tensed up friend had put his coins. ¡°What¡¯s left in the chests?¡±


    ¡°Scraps,¡± replied Zaber and let his sly companion have the bag to count for him. His eyes wandered through the camp. ¡°I tried to make sure nothing¡¯s left. Everyone got some more. Lion share¡¯s still with the officers.¡± He stretched his arms and cracked his neck, inhaling the cold winter air in relief. ¡°Let¡¯s scram soon. Are the horses and the boy ready?¡±


    The four veterans went on their way, watching carefully who was close to them ¨C who could see them. Many of the eyes around them were thankful or ashamed, but most were minding their own business.


    ¡°Boy¡¯s back in the tent, reading or some horseshit,¡± said Asher as they passed rows of tents. ¡°He reported that he did as you told him.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± said Zaber with a curt nod. ¡°Why ain¡¯t he with y¡¯all?¡±


    ¡°Is your boy, nor ours,¡± smirked Asher again. ¡°You taking him with? South?¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t wanna see his gramps. Your plan¡¯s as good as any.¡± Zaber looked past Asher, at the unreasonably tall man and his bald companion. ¡°We sticking together, ain¡¯t we? What¡¯s y¡¯alls plan with your payout?¡±


    Before Buron was about to say something, Asher took over. ¡°Oh, I got huge plans,¡± he said. ¡°We hitting that border town big time. You, me, those two numbnuts. If we invest wisely, we¨C¡±


    ¡°Nah.¡± Breg shook his head, while straightening his beard and hair. ¡°We good.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be close, but do our own thing. Take a couple jobs here and there, be nothing but¡­ us for a while,¡± said Buron, walking along with his thumbs in his belt. ¡°Maybe some escorts or bodyguarding. The wilds are enough for us to start a new life that only revolves around what we love.¡±


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    ¡°Glad you coming with,¡± said Zaber with a smile. ¡°I got your back, whatever you do. I¡¯ll find some place to hit up with the boy and figure out what I actually wanna do. As long as y¡¯all are around, nothing can go wrong.¡±


    ¡°Even you have to take a job at some point,¡± continued Asher, as if nobody had interrupted him. ¡°That¡¯s a lot of coins you got there; even more with your spending habits. When it runs out, I can keep us afloat for sure. I¡¯ll dig myself into the local scene as soon as we get there.¡± He snapped his finger and pointed southwards. ¡°That city will be ours in no time.¡±


    Zaber picked up pace as they reached their shared tent. The embers of a fire in front of it were still glowing hot. ¡°Boy!¡± yelled the greasy and unkempt man, much to Asher¡¯s dismay. ¡°Torm, get your arse out here! We¡¯re back.¡±


    Each rank of a formation shared a tent, located close to the other ones of their unit. Since word about Airich¡¯s sickness got around, recruitment went down and many didn¡¯t extend their contracts even before this day. Nine to fifteen men, fighting with each other, should be in one tent. But now, four men and a boy had all this space for themselves. The ground was frozen and dry on the inside, with bedrolls, arms and other belongings neatly lined up. A small stove sat in the back, with a pot that melted snow for waterskins and canteens on it.


    ¡°Here!¡± the boy jumped up from his blanket. A book laid open at his feet. ¡°I¡¯m here. I kept the fires going, as you told me.¡± Torm peeked through the opening, before holding the tent¡¯s canvases open to let the veterans in.


    ¡°Fire in the front is out,¡± said Zaber, and slapped the boy casually on the chest. ¡°I told you, don¡¯t kiss up on us. You ain¡¯t my servant, you¡¯re¨C¡± He halted and looked at his friends. ¡°What¡¯s the word? There¡¯s no contract, nor does he run my business for me. He¡¯s¨C¡±


    ¡°Apprentice,¡± replied Asher. ¡°You¡¯re the master, and he¡¯s learning your craft.¡± The sly veteran slapped the boy on the hand that held the tent open. ¡°What did he tell you? Don¡¯t be a little bitch.¡±


    ¡°My craft sucks though.¡± Zaber smiled and waited outside, as Buron and Breg entered, ignoring the child. ¡°Y¡¯all pack your shit up. Mine as well,¡± he said. His three friends turned around and saw their companion¡¯s smile fade away. ¡°I¡¯ve got this one last thing to do. Gather the horses at the spot I¡¯ve told you about.¡±


    ¡°No lessons this evening?¡± asked Torm glum, with the biggest puppy eyes.


    ¡°I want to be gone before sunrise. Get to one of the fief¡¯s villages for the night.¡± He grabbed Torm at the shoulders and directed him back in the tent, towards his mentor¡¯s belongings. ¡°All of this gets on the cart. Asher knows where it is. If it takes too long for me to return, do the dry-drills I showed you and ask Breg for corrections. Don¡¯t touch any of the longer blades, I don¡¯t want to stir trouble with the nobs.¡±


    Breg looked up when he heard his name, but didn¡¯t look particularly interested in the matter. He and Zaber nodded at each other though. Buron poured the hot water into their containers, glimpsing at the unreasonably tall man.


    ¡°I collected all of your contracts, certificates and papers into my books and put them in a chest,¡± said Torm and looked at the four men. ¡°They were all crinkled, and some of the seals were crumbling off.¡±


    ¡°Good thinking.¡± The tensed up veteran¡¯s eyes wandered around the tents outside. The now former soldiers, the animals that drove off the camp followers. Unemployed and ready to bail. Many familiar faces. Folk he loved, hated, and barely knew. This was everything Zaber knew. His whole life. ¡°I gotta go. The longer I wait, the worse it gets. This¡¯ my last chance.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¨C¡± Torm¡¯s face was infected by the gloom, but he couldn¡¯t finish.


    ¡°Tell him! Murder his arse,¡± laughed Buron and toasted him with hot water. ¡°Don¡¯t let him do you dirty. You deserve the final say. Earned it!¡±


    Zaber took one last awkward breath before departing his friends. The thirteen year old boy, who he had saved, only saw him that distressed when he had to go talk with the dying general. Gone was the commanding presence of a man in charge of other men. Gone was the outrageously stupid confidence. It was hard to believe that this man, Zaber, was the same man that comforted Torm when he rose from the nightmares. He didn¡¯t seem to sleep himself. Even stranger was the fear in his eyes when he was called by the man at the top, Airich of Belge. Stories of him were well known by the boy, and not once had he met him. All three regiments under his command were kept together by a veteran corps of officers and soldiers, and an unfathomable war chest.


    ¡°Don¡¯t slack off, the General is waiting,¡± said a man in front of a big colorful tent. He wore a blue cloak with ermine fur, as was his cap. A gilded pin, set with a gemstone and fowl feather, pointed skywards. Sitting at a table, with a young man serving him wine, he ate a small meal of eggs and buttered bread. ¡°If you dawdle like this, he might already be dead!¡±


    Knowing who the man was, Zaber¡¯s gait gained speed. The rows of tents he had to pass were lavish and plenty coats of arms, horses and armor stands were presented to each other and the footmen. The common soldiers and baggage train shunned this area if they could. But Zaber had to cross it all the time. Hopefully, this would be the last.


    ¡°Corporal?¡± yelled the man and sent his squire, clad in a tabard with his master¡¯s crest on it, after the soldier. ¡°Corporal?! Did you hear me?!¡± The nobleman¡¯s attire and face told two very different stories. His gruff mustache, biting eyes, and two scars on his right cheek and eyebrow made him just as much a hardened warrior as Zaber was.


    From the corner of his eye, the greasy and unkempt man saw the squire move. Zaber came to an abrupt halt, sighed, and straightened his posture. ¡°No Sir,¡± he said, and turned on his heel. ¡°Sarge Brenz and I paid off the banners. With all due respect, Major Theobalt, I would prefer to not waste any more time.¡±


    ¡°When we¡¯re done with this, you and I shall have a talk,¡± said the officer and waved his squire back. The boy ran over and pulled Theobalt¡¯s chair back from the table so that the man could stand up. He was rather short, but of an imposing width. His young aide had to pick up his one handed sword, in its ornamented scabbard. He had to carry it in hand¡¯s reach of his master. It bore the regiment¡¯s coats of arms, the King¡¯s and that of his own: a white cross on black ground, with a small golden star in the center. Between these coat of arms was the depiction of a beheaded demonic creature. ¡°A talk without Airich¡¯s hand above your head, Corporal. You may not serve us as a soldier anymore, but you do still serve us. Got this? The other officers also¨C¡±


    ¡°Airich told me about your cousin,¡± interrupted Zaber dryly. ¡°I know where the letters are.¡±


    ¡°You¨C¡± The two men stared at each other, not even a foot apart from each other. ¡°We were read his Will. When our General has breathed his last breath, his nephew will ride down from that castle, and you¡¯ll be a dead man.¡±


    ¡°Good evening,¡± replied Zaber and turned on his heel. ¡°Major.¡± The officer was only one stroke of his blade away from the former corporal. Nothing on this earth stood between them, and Zaber knew that. But he wasn¡¯t the only one still afraid of a dying man.


    Snow fell from the sky again, and the tense veteran arrived at the old man¡¯s pavilion. A canopy with a ball of hay was right next to it. Patina was having a good chew on it. Zaber stared at the entrance, but his boots were frozen to the ground. His entire body shook, before he turned towards the beautiful white animal, worn out by old age. He laid his hands on the horse¡¯s neck and pressed his forehead against its nose, closing his eyes. ¡°Just a bit longer,¡± he whispered to Patina. ¡°He can¡¯t hurt you anymore.¡±


    The horse groaned and leaned into Zaber. They shared warmth for a bit longer, before the former soldier scratched its chin and stepped back. Without further delay, he stepped inside and swept the canvases of the entrance aside. ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± said Zaber, gazing through the inside. Other noblemen had entire beds for their servants to put together in their tents. Not the rural knights, except if they¡¯d served for long enough in the regiments. Airich though, not from the nobility of the sword, was a proper earl by the merit of his older brother¡¯s death. Yet he slept on a cot. No stuffings, no fancy blankets, just wool. Everything served a dual function, no tables or chairs, only chests and stools. A small oven to cook and heat, his arms and armor on display around it, with some clothes to dry. Nothing was cheap, but there was a lack of extravagance that added to his infamy. Zaber knew each piece around here, because he had put them together countless times. Nothing ever changed in this tent, and he wouldn¡¯t dare to misplace anything.


    A cacophony of coughs and gags was the prelude to a profound bass. The bastard couldn¡¯t even die tuneless. Airich tried to raise his arm to slip out from under his blanket, but didn¡¯t have the strength. His head turned around, a strand of blood dripping from his imposing mustache. He had kept the dark blonde of his hair for a long time, but these last years had stripped it of all color. ¡°Tookrgh¨C¡± He coughed again. ¡°Took your damned time, boy.¡±


    ¡°¡¯aight, missed you too,¡± replied Zaber and stepped closer. He picked up a stool and sat next to the bed. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t a man not wish to die without regret?¡± His bloody teeth flashed through his lips. Even in this state, his broad shoulders hinted at his former physique. ¡°Damned be I if the last face I see is one of them.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t fool me,¡± said the boy and fixed the old man¡¯s blanket. ¡°You¡¯re filled with regrets. What¡¯s it you wanna curse me with?¡±


    ¡°Help me up,¡± ordered the General, and the soldier did as he was told. Zaber¡¯s thoughts told him something different, but he was unable to follow through. Kneeling on the ground before the bed, he put Airich¡¯s arms around him, lifted him up, and sat him on the edge. He wrapped the blanket around Airich¡¯s shoulders to keep him from freezing. ¡°Very well,¡± said the old man. ¡°Want to face you as a man.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± said Zaber and sat back on the stool. He mustered Airich¡¯s body, sunken in an impossible posture. Like a sack of grain, yet¡­


    ¡°Listen to me, son¨C¡± Drool ran down his chin and onto his chest.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t your son,¡± interrupted Zaber, clenching his fist. ¡°You ruined me. Showed me that nobody cares about me. I¡¯ve got nothing because of you.¡±


    ¡°A coward¡¯s bravery,¡± cackled the General. ¡°Now that I can¡¯t put you into the ground. And yet¨C¡± He choked on the mix of spit and blood. ¡°Yet you love me as much as I love you. You know I love you, don¡¯t you? I only loved one man more than you¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop it,¡± said Zaber, grabbing his fist to keep it in place.


    ¡°I wish the King had granted my request to adopt you. I wish he allowed me to make you fully my own and make you live up to what you could¡¯ve been.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck do you want from me?!¡± The boy leaned forward, screaming into Airich¡¯s face. Spit accompanied his words, but the old man couldn¡¯t notice it anymore. ¡°You love me?! How?! I learned nothing but cruelty from you. Everything I know is worthless.¡±


    ¡°I ruined you?¡± Airich stared Zaber back into his seat. ¡°You are the third-best thing I produced. You would be unstoppable if you weren¡¯t born a common¨C¡±


    ¡°Common what? Stop me from what?¡± Zaber grabbed the cloth on his knees to keep his fists from bursting. ¡°Do you even remember all the things you made me do? Aume, or her mother? You killed my¨C¡±


    ¡°And did you not enjoy it?! Don¡¯t raise your voice against me, boy! Why should I remember every whore I paid? Without my pay, all of you would have starved or frozen to death. I made you a man and gave you purpose.¡± Repressing the coughs, Airich¡¯s bass rose gloriously. ¡°This is what war is about. You love it, I love it. The likes of you, Brenz or your big friend are the only folk who understand. There is no glory, there is only soldiering. These glory-seeking snobs? They come and go. You could have run away a long time ago, but you stayed. Because you love me, and we love war.¡±


    Wheezing interrupted Airich¡¯s rantings, and he leaned so much into it that he fell forward into Zaber¡¯s lap. His orderly caught him though, letting go of his fists to lift him up once more.


    ¡°I wanted you to have it all,¡± yammered Airich in the boy¡¯s arms. ¡°But now that wimp of a nephew will get it. They called me ¡®Rival to the King¡¯, boy. But he was terrified of me¡­ because he knew that I had no rival.¡±


    ¡°You are a pathetic creature. You leave nothing behind but a name that¡¯s admired by strangers, and hated by everyone who knows you,¡± whispered Zaber into his master¡¯s ear, holding him at his broad shoulders. ¡°I ain¡¯t like you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll,¡± uttered Airich. ¡°More so than me. More so than Mur-ad-Din, who I lov¨C¡±


    ¡°Who you killed. Because that¡¯s the only thing we know how to do,¡± rasped Zaber and stared back. ¡°Only so the King couldn¡¯t get to it before you.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t allow Theogreif to get his hands on him. I still can¡¯t,¡± said the General, clenching his fist in front of his lungs. ¡°I have one last order for you in my Will. You will take my body and studies when my soul joins the Dragon.¡± Blood ran through his teeth, and Zaber looked around to find something to wipe it off. ¡°I beg you Zaber, my son, take Mur ad-Din¡¯s magic. Don¡¯t allow these incompetent fools to get their hands on it¡­ I want you to¨C¡±


    ¡°Lay down, you need rest,¡± said Zaber, listening to a gurgle. ¡°I ain¡¯t falling for your lies no more. Why should I care¨C¡± He found an old kerchief, but when he turned around, there was only a limp body, still sitting upright. His eyes were only half-closed, with a puddle of blood in his own lap. He didn¡¯t look at peace. Because he never was. Zaber took a deep breath and closed Airich¡¯s eyes for good. ¡°You¡¯ll face a bunch of folk up there in the Kraken,¡± he said and wiped the old man¡¯s face clean. The cloth was overtaken by red when the boy put Airich to sleep, tugging him under the blanket. ¡°We¡¯ll meet again.¡± Zaber tried his hardest to sound dry, but all he could do was turn silent by the end. He felt an unfamiliar pain surging through his cheeks and eyes, but before it could possess him, his fists acted on their own. The boy punched the corpse in the face, and chest ¨C everywhere. Over and over he groaned, as he spread the bloody mess around the bed and over his own clothes. This damned motherfucker was right, and Zaber knew it. He deserved it. He deserved more. More than these noblearses like his good-for-nothing nephew, who never had to suffer.


    Zaber knew where everything was. Which chest to open, what was of worth, and what he needed to keep himself safe from men like that Major waiting for him. He took whatever book, letters, scrolls, gold and silver he could get his hands on. Feeling watched by a lifeless body, he kept looking back at Airich. Having said everything he wanted to say, Zaber felt worse. Only taking these rings, belt buckles, spurs, gauntlets and finally even the longsword with him made him feel better.


    Dragging a full chest behind him, with a blade under his arm, the former mercenary looked across the camp first. Nobody was lurking around, nor waiting for him. Still, there were many voices close-by. Zaber looked at the white horse around the canvas, neighing as if it wanted to be heard, and walked up to it.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he said and patted Patina¡¯s mane. Sprinting inside, he grabbed the next-best rope and blanket. Zaber ignored Airich¡¯s saddle, as beautiful as the horse itself, and hastily fastened the chest onto the steed. He clicked twice with his tongue and led the horse at its snout. ¡°We¡¯re free now.¡±

 Chapter 45 - Codetta

    Chapter 45


    Day Twenty-Two ¨C Codetta


    While flames and turmoil devoured the prison camp, Zaber¡¯s was quenched. Running along the palisades, Zaber felt nothing but what was ahead of him. The pain was gone, his breath and mind free of burden. All he had punished himself and his friends over was about to end. Four years without battle, without an enemy, had been glorious. But that day in Teblen when Zaber knocked on that patrician¡¯s door and drove cold steel inside him¡­ When he scouted through the mountains and woods to lay ambush after ambush. The planning with Franque. And finally ¨C this day. This night. The former mercenary resented what he had felt all this time. Neither the highs of the poppy juice flowing through him nor the taste of victory were what drove him. It was something deeper; more primal. The time had come to stop resisting, and let Brenz and Airich have what they told him. As a good soldier does.


    ¡°Over there!¡± yelled a guard. Zaber was well aware of them. ¡°Shoot him.¡±


    The veteran kept moving, making the first bolts whir past him. But one hit him right on his tinned shoulder, ricocheting into his helmet. Showered in splinters, he stumbled to the side. Zaber had no plan on fighting anyone but that knight. But if anybody stood between him and Sagir¡­


    ¡°Forget him!¡± yelled another one. ¡°They¡¯re coming.¡± Five soldiers, geared up, were more than a match for any number of convicts. No matter how many picks, shovels or looted polearms they brought.


    Knowing how prisoners were treated, Zaber averted his gaze from them as often as he could. In war, there was no camp for them, and they had to be controlled even harsher. Decisions had to be made about who to feed and who to get rid of. Only those of value were treated well ¨C for ransom and negotiations. The best thing to happen to a prisoner of war was to be let go without equipment. And able-bodied men had it the worst. Especially Yesilians like Sagir.


    Keeping away from the heat of battle and fires for as long as possible, Zaber kept Ludi¡¯s map in mind. Nobody was guarding the main complex, which might very well be Beotold¡¯s only order. Without any sign of slowing down, Sagir¡¯s barrack was within the former mercenary¡¯s grasp. Zaber expected the knight to await him, but he was wrong. He slapped the drawbar up and threw his weight against the door, breaking inside in a way that nobody could miss. Looking down the mineshaft, he grabbed the pliers from his belt and rattled them against the metal bars towards the quarters. Beotold wasn¡¯t here either.


    ¡°Sagir!¡± screamed Zaber. ¡°Sagir!¡± Every man was already up on the other side.


    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± said Sagir hectically, and came to the front. ¡°Be careful, that maniac is lurking somewhere.¡± He grabbed the pliers and put them to the lock.


    ¡°I know,¡± replied Zaber with a curt nod. ¡°I¡¯ll kill him next.¡±


    ¡°No, don¡¯t try again,¡± said the young man with the shaven head. Looking up again, he halted from using the tool. ¡°Your chances aren¡¯t better now. Why try a second time? We can just run.¡±


    ¡°Third time.¡± Zaber¡¯s face was hidden behind the visor of his sallet helmet. ¡°Y¡¯all go, Torm and my other friends will pick you up. Run towards the center, not the gate,¡± he said, and reached behind the bars with his free hand, without a gauntlet from the previous ambush. Grabbing Sagir¡¯s arm, he guided him back with the pliers, and offered him the arming sword that Torm had looted before. ¡°Don¡¯t turn around.¡±


    The lock snapped and the door sprung open. ¡°Let me help you. I saw your fights, a single man can¡¯t defeat¨C¡±


    Pulling the gate open, Zaber opened his visor and hugged his friend. ¡°I¡¯ve wronged y¡¯all. I promised Ceyhan that I¡¯ll make right to y¡¯all,¡± interrupted the greasy and unkempt man commanding. Not apologizing. ¡°Your time to fight has come. All of you have to fight for your life now.¡± He stepped aside, and a prisoner squeezed himself past the two. ¡°But not here. Not against him.¡±


    Murmurs behind and around them arose, impatient for their freedom. But the first man stopped.


    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± sounded a perfect cavalier baritone, waiting outside. The exit was not blocked, but running past the imposing figure was still a matter of courage. ¡°You all have to fight for your life now. I¡¯ll give you a head start,¡± said the Captain in full armor, drawing his sword. ¡°Until I¡¯m done with him.¡±


    Zaber turned away from Sagir. The young man with the curved scar on his forehead, and several beatings in his face, held him back at his pauldrons. ¡°Please,¡± he whispered. ¡°Let me help you.¡±


    ¡°Leave,¡± ordered Zaber, shaking off his friend¡¯s hand. He snatched the glass flask dangling from his belt and walked outside ¡°Now.¡±


    The veteran felt another encouraging jab on his back before Sagir ran past him. Zaber waited for the prisoners to leave, while he waited outside the mining hut. Beotold pointed his sword at the Yesilian while he was still in sight, as he stared at the former soldier through the slit of his own sallet.


    ¡°I have to admit¡­¡± Beotold¡¯s immaculate voice rang towards Zaber, who pulled the cork of the flask with his teeth. ¡°That you¡¯re able to stand is nothing but impressive. You try very hard to make it look like you are more than a measly peasant¡¯s son.¡± The knight swung his blade back, resting it over his shoulder ¨C ready to snap forward. ¡°But you¡¯re running on the Kraken¡¯s juice, aren¡¯t you? You think you have a better chance drunk?¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± said Zaber, pulling out Airich¡¯s sword in one swift motion. Sparks danced across the edge. ¡°Involucro igni!¡± he yelled with a bland undertone, devoid of rhythm. Yet, the blade was set ablaze on every inch that left its scabbard.


    ¡°By the Stars, you have to be kiddi¨C¡± Beotold cut off his own incredulous words. ¡°This is not how this works!¡± he said, rising in melody, as he watched Zaber drink from the flask. ¡°You insolent little pretender, stop trying to¨C¡±


    Suddenly, a common man, the son of a peasant, interrupted the nobleman. Zaber hurled the small bottle at the knight¡¯s helmet. Beotold flinched as the shattered glass spread around him. A familiar, yet unrecognizable stench seeped through the gaps of his armor and through his visor, enraging the knight. His feet shifted into a fighting stance. He watched Zaber remove his own helmet and cast it aside.


    ¡°This is how you want to do this?¡± said Beotold, tasting the fluid thrown at him on his lips. It wasn¡¯t strong, but awfully smoky. ¡°This is how you want to die?!¡± He grabbed his own helmet and ripped it off to show his angry visage. His combed hair, and shaven jaw, both soaked. A perfect set of teeth, tainted by a chipped fang.


    Not a single sound left Zaber when he leapt forwards into a charge. Holding Airich¡¯s blazing sword high above his head, the attack was powerful and foreseeable. The combatants¡¯ faces were illuminated by it when steel collided. Anybody could have blocked this attack. Beotold¡¯s following counter was broken by the impossible. The flame of the blade overtook Beotold¡¯s face, and spread over his upper body when Zaber spewed out a gulp of lamp oil. Everything that the fluid touched ignited.


    The nobleman¡¯s body opened up with a bawling roar. The former mercenary¡¯s intentionally failed attack was still deflected. But Zaber pushed forward with his shoulder. His lips were as burned as Beotold¡¯s face and body when the knight stumbled backwards. A kick brought him to the ground for good. The veteran raised his sword to thrust it down on his flailing foe. Zaber had not come to fight fair, and he didn¡¯t believe in honor. He came to wage war.


    ¡°Ego ton¨­!¡± The arcanium in Beotold¡¯s armor lit up under a booming verse between the screams. Unable to control the volume, but dampened by improper form, the cracking voice thundered Zaber off his feet, hurling him into the air. The man-at-arms crashed back into the mining hut. The roof tiles and planks collapsed under the weight of a fully armored man.


    Fueled by Thyra¡¯s magic tonic and the ghosts of his past, Zaber was a stranger to pain. But he heard more than just wood break. His body didn¡¯t follow his orders at first, but soon enough his muscles twitched again and he got back on his feet. Bracing himself on the burning longsword he¡¯d inherited, he stumbled back through the door to the mines.


    Beotold rolled around to quench the last of the flames. The shock wave from his spell had taken away the air around the fire. But his chest, neck and half of his face were severely burned. The wet sensation and reek of a roast made his blood boil as he gasped for air. Coughing and gurgling, he dragged himself back onto his feet as well. For the first time in his life, he felt that if he stayed down he would die. That this man would kill him. That this lowly peasant son was about to¡­


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    ¡°How does it feel?¡± Zaber leaned against the door frame, hunched over. A sharp piece of wood stuck out of his forehead, right above his brow. Blood colored half his vision red. Far from straight, he walked towards the knight, whose gait was just as shaky.


    Wheezing, Beotold replied with unintelligible hoarse words. He coughed and cleared his throat, but Zaber didn¡¯t even try to understand him. When the two men reached each other, the knight failed to sing another verse ¨C but the humming alone invigorated him. Striking his sword at Zaber¡¯s face, a sloppy parry was enough to defend himself. The man-at-arms¡¯ own follow-up attack couldn¡¯t pierce the knight¡¯s armor.


    With each attack, parry and block, their heads spun a little less, and their movements regained grit. Their training overtook their bodies, and Zaber closed in for a half-swording clinch. Neither of them wore a helmet, and Beotold smashed his forehead into the peasant son¡¯s nose. The wet of his burned wounds mixed with Zaber¡¯s blood, as the knight was thrown to the ground. Both lost grip of their blades and fell onto each other.


    The former mercenary knelt on top of his foe, and punched his face over and over. Half the strikes hit Beotold¡¯s cuirass or pauldrons instead. With his unprotected hand, Zaber searched for the Captain¡¯s neck.


    Forsaking a guard, Beotold grabbed the veteran¡¯s hand before he got strangled. He pushed his other hand forward. ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s!¡± he sang with a croaked baritone.


    Even though the spell didn¡¯t feel as strong as Zaber remembered it, the earth seemed to shake when he careened across the ground. His body felt sluggish. Too slow for what he needed. Too slow for what he had planned. He got on his knees, panting, and saw Beotold¡¯s sabatons and greaves step in front of him. The knight had gotten up on his feet and found his sword. All Zaber could do was raise his hands in a surge for survival. The flash of a blade came down on the beaten veteran and sliced through the unprotected flesh of his right hand. His tinned left hand was enough to swat it to the side, ripping his hand open between his middle and ring fingers.


    The mere leather glove stood no chance. The blade only stopped when it hit the bone of his wrist and arm further down. For pain to break through the enchantment of the poppy juice, it had to be¡­ another tremor went through the ground. There was nothing left but screams. Zaber did not know if this was still the same earthquake, or if any of this was even real. His arm was drenched in blood, and he knew that this was it. He had fucking lost it. The former mercenary heard another weak ¡°D¨¡ mihi v¨©r¨¥s,¡± with a kick that sent him flying and pulled the sword out of his hand. His head jammed against the wooden planks of the mining hut. For this brief moment, he heard, smelt, and felt everything. The smog, the smoke, the cries of battle and the cracks in the flames. All for what he had fought for on this day. On Fire Festival.


    ¡°I¨C¡± grunted Beotold. His steps were unsteady. ¡°You¨C¡± he corrected himself. ¡°Stay down! Stay down where you belong¡­ why don¡¯t you stay down?!¡± yelled the knight, as a thin blade found its way into his flesh. It pushed deep between the plated leg and codpiece. Zaber was up and wrapped his bloody hand around Beotold¡¯s thigh, while his good hand pushed his stiletto deeper.


    The Captain kicked Zaber in the face, acting on reflex alone. While Beotold fell to his knees, holding his groin, the peasant son was pushed closer to the hole in the ground. Zaber saw the pulley above him. The soil underneath them moved violently, and the wooden beams above him cracked. Dust rained down on the two men, as the hut crumbled onto them. Through the fog, Zaber saw no stars except for the pale light of the red moon. Her sister was barely visible behind her. There was nothing under his head and shoulders anymore, hanging above the mine shaft. This was it. He heard the nobleman¡¯s screams and closed his eyes.


    He can¡¯t hurt you anymore. We¡¯re free now.


    - - - - - - - - -


    One breath after another, sweat ran down every inch of Thyra¡¯s body. Her borrowed paddings were drenched, but she couldn¡¯t stop moving. The young men were faster and in better shape than her, but she still saw them ahead of her.


    ¡°Over here,¡± said Sagir. ¡°It was over here,¡± he repeated, leading Thyra and Torm to the rubble of his former prison. The barracks were partially intact, but the conic hut had collapsed into a pile of logs, beams, planks, tiles and bricks. When Sagir had joined them, and told them what happened, they had heard a thunder and followed it.


    ¡°Wh¨C, where is he?¡± stuttered Torm, skimming through the splinters. ¡°Where is he, Sagir?¡±


    ¡°He¨C¡± Sagir moved around without aim, looking at the remnants of where he had worked relentlessly over the last days. ¡°Dear Rukh, please be with him,¡± he said and raised his hand to the sky.


    The young men burrowed through the wood. Most of the guards had surrendered or were overpowered by now, and the sound of battle toned down. But no matter if it was safe or not, Torm and Sagir had to give it their all.


    With her heart running circles around her, and her blood boiling, Thyra looked around from afar. She saw Zaber¡¯s and Beotold¡¯s helmets. The grass around here smoldered. Walking closer towards her companions, her foot got caught on a sword. The witch picked it up slowly, as she realized what truth might be behind all of this. The blade was covered in soot, with old arcanium crumbling out of it. She threw her own blade aside, as well as the buckler.


    ¡°Femme!¡± yelled a familiar accent across the battlefield. ¡°Woman!¡± Franque¡¯s spiked mace dripped with blood. His men were scattered nearby, with Ludi bracing one of them. The younger of the brothers, Asti, burned another barrack. When he turned around, he flipped the torch into the air, caught it, and then rotated it between his fingers. ¡°We have to move, renforts will arrive soon,¡± said Franque. He and his underlings looked excited, and ready to run.


    Thyra rubbed her eyes. Sweat and smoke wore her down. These men were too much for her. She looked at the longsword, once in possession of a great general¡­ now Zaber¡¯s longsword. The least they had to do was try to find him, even if it was just for a moment. So she closed in on Torm and Sagir, rummaging through the wreckage.


    ¡°Voc¨­ tonitrum!¡± A perfect cavalier baritone sounded beneath the ruins, and uplifted them. Debris was cast aside, hitting the young men. A wave of thunder made its way through, throwing them aside.


    A burned and beaten figure rose, veiled in the remnants of glowing arcanium. The parting of his once immaculate hair was split open and his half-burned face colored red. A piece of metal stuck out from his groin, as he limped towards Thyra. ¡°I¨C¡± Beotold¡¯s voice was broken. ¡°¨Cam not done,¡± he said, looking down on the witch.


    Torm looked for his blade, thrown to the side in search of Zaber, while Sagir had found a suitable piece of lumber. But before any of them, or Franque and his brigands, could come to Thyra¡¯s aid, another spell echoed through the camp.


    ¡°Ignem voco,¡± sang Thyra. Her mezzo was meek, but her thrust wasn¡¯t. The blade that once belonged to the greatest military mind of his era pierced the knight¡¯s throat. The surrounding flames cauterized the wound, cluttering his wind pipe. Beotold clenched his own neck when he fell onto his knees, fighting for air. It was not a long struggle. His torn open eyes never let go of Thyra.


    While Torm ran over to the young woman, Sagir stared down the opening from which Beotold came. A deep hole in the ground was right next to it. ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± he muttered.


    Disarming Thyra carefully, Torm held her at the shoulder at the same time. He felt her body tremble, and it jumped over to him. With the knight at his feet, and Sagir looking without hope, he sobbed without tears.


    ¡°Dobbiamo muoverci,¡± yelled Ludi from behind Franque.


    ¡°Aller! Go.¡± Franque waved at Sagir when he reached Torm and Thyra. He grabbed them and dragged them along.


    ¡°No,¡± stuttered Torm. ¡°I have to get him,¡± said the young man and shook the brigand off himself.


    ¡°Torm,¡± said Sagir, blocking his path. His eyes were filled with dread, as he hugged his friend. ¡°Please, don¡¯t let this be for nothing,¡± he whispered into Torm¡¯s ear. ¡°Let me be free.¡±


    ~FIN~


    ~To be continued~