The Sampler Platter: A Little Bit of Everything

by Susan Skylark

Chapter 3

  Dawn came early and Tristan did not greet it as he usually did. He had fallen asleep leaning against a tree and was cold and stiff from his unusual sleeping arrangements. The mare was nuzzling him gently; it was far too early. The sun had not risen yet and only a ghostly grey light suffused the world, mist and dew lay thick on everything. He felt very cold, wet, and tired. He looked hopefully towards the fire, but it had sputtered out in the waning night. With a sigh he rose and walked to the river to clean-up. After his very cold ablutions, he headed back towards the meadow. People were starting to stir, though very reluctantly. Most seemed to have fallen asleep wherever they happened to run out of energy and some of the sleeping places made his tree look a feather bed! A bugle sounded somewhere in the fog and there were many yells as the remaining sleepers were startled from their slumber. A senior Knight emerged with a roll of official looking parchment and nailed it to a large oak in the center of the meadow; they must have been tabulating all night. A crowd quickly gathered around the posted results. There was an occasional celebratory cheer but more often came a dispirited moan. Tristan waited until the majority of the recruits had had their chance and the rejects had melted away into the fog. Next to number 57 was written a small note: please report to the Captain immediately. He wondered what that could portend, but wasted no time in complying and made his way quickly towards the central pavilion that had been erected in the meadow. A small group of successful recruits was milling around the tent as he approached but none went inside.

  By now the sun was rising and driving away the damp fog and some warmth was creeping back into the world. Tristan ducked inside the tent. Someone outside yelled, “I would not go in there! They told us to wait here.” But he ignored them.

  “How many times must I tell you to wait outside,” bellowed a grumpy looking clerk.

  “I am number 57,” said Tristan, “the parchment said to report to the captain immediately.”

  “Oh,” shrugged the clerk, “then follow me.” The bony little man escorted him into the back of the tent which was walled off with hanging canvas drapes, and led him into a sort of makeshift office area where a large, muscular man reclined in a camp chair behind a desk constructed of trunks and boxes.

  “Number 57!,” said the Captain, “so at last I meet our victor.”

  “Victor?” asked Tristan.

  “Why yes!” said the Captain. “You outscored everyone else two to one. If I did not know better I would say you had done this a few times before or had bribed the judges or something, but I know you have done no such thing, so you must be a man of extraordinary talent. Please sit down.” Tristan took a seat on the shaky camp chair proffered by the clerk who then withdrew and left the two alone. Then the Captain began again, “usually we take these raw recruits, stick them in a unit commanded by a seasoned officer, and send them on a tour of the border between the North Countries and the Wildlands. This gives them field experience, weeds out any cowards that slipped through, and gets them used to a military hierarchy. You however, I think would be wasted on such an expedition. What is your experience in leading a group of men through hostile territory? I see from your file that you have some experience as a mercenary.”

  Surprised at the course things were taking, Tristan cleared his throat and began, “I was orphaned as a young boy and since then I have tagged along with and later led bands of armed men on various expeditions and missions, even into the heart of the Wildlands. I have also had plenty of experience scouting alone.”

  “And would you feel comfortable leading a group of these raw recruits yourself?” asked the Captain.

  “Sir,” he replied, “I would feel comfortable leading them but I hardly know how this Order of yours works. I do not know the rules and regulations. How could I possibly train them to your specifications?”

  “If that is your only concern then you have yourself a command,” smiled the Captain. The Captain stood up and Tristan did the same. The Captain smiled broadly and clapped Tristan on the back, “you have your orders Lieutenant! My secretary will brief you.” As if by magic, a short, bird-like man appeared and led the dazed Tristan away. Things had most definitely taken an unthinkable turn.

  The little man left him in the hands of several minor officers and clerks and they spent the greater part of the day going over rules, regulations, doctrine, maps, and a variety of other information vital to the success of his mission. He was to take a group of six new recruits (from the very group assembled outside the tent awaiting further orders) and spend three months on a tour of the Wildlands. He was to turn a half-dozen farm boys into a group of competent soldiers within that time. Tristan was not sure how this fit in with his mission for the Lady, but this appeared to be the only way to infiltrate the Order so he had to go along with it for now. Although three months in the Wilds would not bring any meaningful insight into the future plans of the Order immediately, perhaps it would bear fruit later. As the sun was setting, he was escorted to yet another tent and equipped with a uniform and the assorted gear he would need on this sort of expedition. That night he was allowed to sleep in the officers’ tent (the other recruits had to sleep outside in a cold drizzle) though he slept little, as his mind kept buzzing over the bizarre turn his life had taken in the last twelve hours. Early the next morning, everyone was roused from their beds and assembled in the meadow in a mockery of military precision.

  The Captain paced back and forth slowly in front of the assembled ranks and gave an encouraging speech that challenged those present to train hard and go forth for the glory of the Order. He then dismissed them to the care of their unit commanders and withdrew to his tent. The new recruits had been divided into groups of six and each group was placed under the command of a junior officer. Tristan’s group eyed him curiously and several of them recognized him from the trials as a novice himself. Yesterday they had received their orientation to the Order and were somewhat familiar with what they were to face over the next few months, though after that no one knew quite what to expect. They had also been issued uniforms, swords, bow and arrows, bedrolls, water skins, and the other miscellaneous equipment required for their journey. Horses were provided for those who lacked an adequate mount, though the quality of their mount might not be what they had hoped when they decided to try out for the Order it was far better than walking or riding a decrepit plow horse.

  “Get packed up and let us be on our way,” said Tristan to his wide-eyed neophytes. They just stood there and gazed about them blankly like a herd of sheep. “I said move it,” bellowed Tristan. This jolted them out of their reverie and sent them scurrying for their packs. Within half an hour, they were all mounted and riding single file towards their assigned patrol route through the Wildlands. It would take almost a week in the saddle before they even reached the borders of the Wilds, but in that time Tristan could start turning these soldier-wannabes into the real thing. Their path was to take them on a zigzag course between the Wildlands and the borders of the more civilized North Countries. Their assignment was simply to ‘maintain order’ wherever they went. There would probably be run-ins with bandits, outlaws, and the strange, evil things that flourished in the Wilds.

  The Wildlands were uncharted and unclaimed by any sovereign power. It was a haunt of things evil and dark, and of men who did not want to be found. There were scattered settlements, but at best they were a gathering place for scoundrels and scofflaws. Anything and anyone could be lurking out there, and it was the perfect place to turn a ragtag group of men into a cohesive fighting unit. The Warrior sect of the Brethren often rode the borders, serving as a guard between peaceful folk and those forces that would murder them in their beds. They hunted down or chased off many vile and evil creatures (and men) that would otherwise terrorize safer lands. Tristan glanced back at the file of men behind him and could only wonder at what he had gotten himself into.

  They rode until nearly
dark and then drew rein and camped in a small grove of trees next to a little stream. Camp chores were assigned on a rotating basis and with practice they were able to set-up camp, prepare the evening meal, stand watch, and break camp in a swift and efficient manner. Tristan felt that on this first night on their own he should address his men; he wanted to lay out the rules and answer any questions that they might have. He motioned for them to seat themselves on a couple of fallen logs facing him; they did so, but with much groaning and grumbling, as they were far more used to walking behind a plow than riding all day and their muscles ached terribly. Tristan smiled to himself as he remembered his first few weeks of such training. They would survive.

  “Welcome to the real thing,” he began, “many of you were hoping for glory and riches, but if that is your desire or destiny, you have a very long way to go and much work ahead of you. We will be riding many hard miles and facing unknown dangers, but when we come out the other side you will be much stronger for it and ready to take on your next great challenge, but until that day you are under my command and I expect you to behave as such. If I say jump, you jump. You are free to leave at any time, but you will not be allowed to rejoin once you have left. I can dismiss you from this unit if I feel you are unfit for duty or have become a problem. This is very wild country through which we will be riding, and I need each of you to obey every command as if your life depended upon it because it often will. I may not have worn this uniform any longer than you, but I have led men into danger before and often venture forth alone, just under a different banner. The rules are simple: you do as you are told when you are told, you ask permission before doing anything you have not been told to do, no drinking, no women, no gambling, no fighting, no foul language, no stealing. That means if you are hungry you do not raid someone’s field or demand that he feed you. If you have not packed it, bought it, or hunted it, you do not eat it. If we meet a local and he invites us in for supper, that is fine, but you will not flaunt your uniform and sword and demand that he feed you. If you feel the need to chase after a woman, you had better leave the unit to do so. Even if a woman offers herself to you, you will not engage in any sort of inappropriate behavior with her or you will be expelled from this company. The rules may seem overbearing and strict, but I need all of your energy and attention focused on our mission. Any distractions hinder your progress as soldiers and endangers the unit as a whole. Anyone who has a question can feel free to ask it now.”

  The men looked at their new commander and saw the dead seriousness in his eyes and manner; no one dared bring up the fact that he had only worn the uniform as long as they, and what gave him the right to command? In the flickering light of the fire, they saw that although the uniform was new, he wore it as if he were born to it. There were a few nervous questions about training, provisions, and the dangers ahead, but most of them silently wondered what they had volunteered for. Shortly thereafter, they retired to their bedrolls, though one man had to stay up on guard duty for a couple hours before he got to seek his blankets. Far too early the next morning, Tristan roused them from their beds and after a light breakfast had them practice their swordsmanship and archery for a couple hours. Then it was back into the saddle (with many groans of agony) and they rode for much of the day. Late in the afternoon, they stopped to rest the horses and practiced hand-to-hand combat and then rode on until it was nearly dark. This is how things progressed in the week it took to reach the borders of civilization; there were practice sessions in fencing, archery, and fighting hand-to-hand interspersed with long stretches in the saddle. As they rode, Tristan guided them away from inhabited country and led them through rocky areas, steep hills, overgrown woods, rushing rivers, and any other obstacle he could find to challenge their riding skills. As the week progressed, they began to trust and respect their leader more, became less apt to whine about sore muscles or saddle sores, and grew closer as a unit. He drew them away from inhabited areas to force them to depend on one another for camaraderie, and because he did not quite trust them around women and alcohol yet. Their skills began to sharpen and improve as the week ran out. Their bodies began to toughen and acclimate to long hours in the saddle and extended periods of activity with odd sleep patterns and situations. By the end of the week, they considered themselves experienced campaigners although they still had a very long way to go.

  One problem with so much training and riding was that it required a lot of energy which in turn required a lot of food. Since they were not traveling with a packhorse and did not have much time to hunt or forage, they only had what food they could carry in their saddlebags which would not last forever. After a week’s travel in uninhabited areas, Tristan finally allowed his men to visit a village on the edge of the Wilds. They deserved a break after a week’s hard work, and they needed to restock their supplies. Restocking opportunities would be unpredictable once they started their patrol circuit. Before he let them loose on the town, he told them, “now remember what I said about conducting yourselves in public. Do not discredit your uniform. I know that others who have worn this outfit have often used it to take advantage of situations like this, but you will not. You are a credit to this company and the Order and I expect you to behave accordingly. Now go enjoy yourselves, but be back to camp by midnight.” Tristan took care of procuring supplies and the men headed towards the inn for some much-needed relaxation.

  As the six uniformed men wandered into the inn, all eyes turned to watch, many with looks of worry or disgust. The serving girls especially looked uneasy, but when they quietly sat down by themselves at a table in the corner, everyone relaxed a little bit. They politely ordered (and paid for) bread, stew, and tea. Tea! Who ever heard of soldiers drinking tea? The curiosity of the locals was definitely aroused. These were the nicest soldiers that had ever darkened the doorway of the inn. The men would have loved to partake in copious amounts of the local brew and take advantage of the poor girls who served at table, but such was the respect they had for the words of their leader that they refrained, and to their surprise passed a rather enjoyable evening. Eventually, the curiosity of the locals overcame their fear and there was much talking, singing, and even a game or two of darts. It was nearly midnight when they bid their new friends goodnight and headed back towards their camp. Tristan donned a hooded cloak and snuck into the inn to observe his men anonymously from a corner. He was quite pleased with the way things were progressing.

  The next morning he let them sleep in (meaning it was an hour past sunrise instead of an hour before when they got up). Today would be their first excursion into the Wildlands. They would be taking a circuitous route through the Wilds that would sporadically bring them back into more hospitable territory to rest and resupply. Once they were packed and ready to go he said, “today is our first trek into the Wilds. Be on the alert, there are evil things about both man and beast. Our job is to ‘maintain order’ which means we will chase off or destroy any evil thing we encounter. Our job is to protect the innocent people who live or travel in these forsaken lands. Your behavior last night at the inn was excellent; you are to be commended. Such upstanding behavior is to be the rule rather than the exception. As we enter these uncivilized regions, we will meet with many whose behavior will not be so polite. You are not to use lethal force on another man unless absolutely necessary, or as deemed necessary by the Common Law after a fair trial. Evil beasts may be destroyed at need. Do not let any bandits, outlaws, or other rascals we meet upon the road goad you into a fight. They will brag and scoff and insult you but pay them no heed. You know your worth even if they do not and their uninformed and little minds can produce no insult that should arouse your anger. Trust each other and watch your backs. We ride north!” They mounted up and rode side by side into the trees.

  For traveling in such infamous territory, their first patrol through it was rather unremarkable. They met no one for the whole ten-day ride and only rarely glimpsed the retr
eating shadow of some dark creature vanishing into the depths of the forest. There were evil things about, but most were solitary creatures and did not dare confront a large and well-armed party. They continued to alternate their riding with training sessions and each day their skills and confidence grew. After ten days on the road, their supplies were dwindling and the men were growing weary of always traveling and watching for enemies. That evening Tristan led them towards a village he knew on the very borders of the Wildlands. They had been watched however, and a dark figure ghosted through the trees and stood in the middle of the trail before them. It appeared to be a cloaked man on a dark horse that seemed part of the dusk itself. He was brandishing a sword. He reined his mount sharply to face the intruders.

  “You will not pass,” he said in a menacing voice, “these people have suffered much from the likes of you and you will not trouble them again. Be gone and never return.” Some of the horses danced a little, picking up their riders’ anxiety. This was the first true challenge they had ever faced. Everything else had been mere practice. But Tristan did not look nervous or even concerned, in fact he seemed to be smiling. True it was only one man, but one well-trained man could do much damage to a company of untested recruits. “Be gone I say,” said the man, “I do not wish to hurt you, but if you push matters I will do what I must.” Tristan’s company just stood there, as if rooted to the earth.

  “We mean only to pass through the village and buy supplies,” said Tristan, “we have been traveling for many days and our food is running low. We will not trouble the locals. We ask only to be allowed to buy supplies and rest for the night.”

  The stranger made a peculiar noise as Tristan finished. It sounded like he was trying to hide a laugh. “That is what every member of your vile Order says, but in the end it all comes to naught,” said the stranger, “this is your last warning, be gone!” With that, he started to ride closer at a menacing walk.

  The soldiers loosened their swords in their sheaths, preparing to face the stranger in battle, but Tristan held up a hand signaling them not to draw their weapons. The horses tossed their heads and snorted in fear. As the stranger approached, a feeling of imminent danger and awe hummed in the air; the very leaves seemed to quiver with it. One of the horses whinnied in fear and started to buck; he wanted to run but his rider held him firm. Just a few feet from Tristan the dark horse stopped.

  “GO!” said the stranger. Every fiber in the recruits and their mounts wanted to flee, but Tristan held them firm. His mare did not move a muscle. The stranger’s horse reared and ceased blending into the night; he shone like the full moon. He snorted and pawed the air and a menacing fire burned in his eyes. The moon had not yet risen, but he glowed with the light of it. Silver flashed from his hooves and the horn on his head. The stranger’s cloak was thrown back and his silver armor shone in the light of his mount; his sword was held high. This was too much for the horses; they reared, bucked, or fled. Four recruits picked themselves up from the ground only to stare in awestruck horror at the glowing beast before them. Two had unsheathed their swords, facing what seemed moonlight in the guise of a warrior. The other two froze with fear. Tristan stood firm and his mare shook her head and rolled her eyes, unimpressed by the display.

  “Put up your swords,” said Tristan to his two functional men. They reluctantly complied. The unicorn had quit pawing the air and stood patiently waiting for whatever happened next.

  “Why do you not run?” asked the rather confused stranger. No mortal horse could stand the full, unveiled fury of a unicorn.

  “I have nothing to fear,” said Tristan, “and neither would you if you were paying more attention. What I said before is true, we are simply here to rest and buy supplies. And now I hope you will believe what I say.” The stranger took a better look at Tristan and understanding dawned in his eyes.

  “I see,” he said, “I do not understand, but things are as they are.” The unicorn abruptly quit glowing and looked nothing more than a rangy sorrel horse. The stranger was simply a cloaked rider, his sword had vanished. “I do apologize for the misunderstanding,” he said, “but we have had much trouble with the Order in these parts before and I was simply trying to spare the local people more anguish.”

  “You do not need to explain your actions,” said Tristan, “though you could have spared us much trouble had you been paying closer attention.” The mare snorted in emphasis. “Now you could correct most of the damage by chasing down my missing horses, including those that fled with their riders.” The stranger took off in the direction the horses had fled, and Tristan dismounted to help his flabbergasted men to their feet. They continued on foot to the inn. On this occasion, each man was allowed a mug of wine to calm shaken nerves. An hour later, the two missing men and the stranger walked into the inn. The horses had been retrieved no worse for wear, and the men had taken a grievous wound to their pride but were otherwise uninjured.

  The two missing men took their seats next to their comrades and the stranger stood beside the table and said, “I do apologize for the misunderstanding, but men in uniforms such as yours have brought nothing but trouble and heartache to this village. But your leader here seems to be a responsible young man and for his sake I will trouble you no further. I wish all members of your Order could be as he is. Learn well by his example.”

  After the stranger retreated from the inn, one of the men leaned in and asked, “what was that all about?”

  “That,” said Tristan, “was one of the Brethren and his unicorn rising up to defend the defenseless.”

  “The Brethren?” asked the confused recruit, “I thought they were a myth or part of the Order or something. Was that a real unicorn?”

  Tristan laughed and said, “the Brethren exist, if not in as great a number as they once did, and they must often go about in secrecy. They are honorable, but in these uncertain times have taken to hiding their identities and have perhaps become too quick to challenge those they think are oppressing the innocent. He was simply trying to protect the people of this village. They have been greatly abused by others in uniforms similar to yours. You would do well to remember what kind of an example others have set before you in the name of the Order. What kind of a name do you want to leave for yourselves? I would have you leave a good example and have your purpose be to defend the defenseless, not to parade around in all your ill-gotten glory taking advantage of the less fortunate as others have done. Perhaps then receptions like this will be a thing of the past and you will be welcomed as heroes. And yes, that was a real unicorn. You seldom see them anymore, though this one showed his true form to scare off your horses. They are as shy as the Brethren. Perhaps your next sighting will not be in fear, and you can truly appreciate how majestic they are.”

  The men calmed a bit with his explanation of things and began to discuss the events of the night. They were alone in the inn except for the innkeeper, as all the locals had been warned of their presence and sought shelter at home. It had been a long day and they happily sought their beds. For once, they were actually staying at an inn and sleeping in real beds. Tomorrow was to be a day with nothing scheduled and they could rest or do as they pleased. They were sleeping three men to a room though Tristan had a room to himself. Some time in the early hours of the morning, a figure crawled in the open window of Tristan’s room and shut it silently behind him. He drew the heavy curtains shut and lit the lamp.

  “You certainly pick an odd time for conversations Raul,” said Tristan sleepily from the bed, “you could have come earlier in the evening or later in the morning.”

  “I assumed you would rather not have anyone know that we have had more than a passing conversation so I had to wait until everyone in the entire village was asleep,” said Raul.

  “It is good to see you,” said Tristan, “you are probably wondering why I am riding with this outfit.”

  “That had cro
ssed my mind,” said Raul, “as usually the interests of the Brethren and the Order have little in common.”

  “Well, it is the interests of the Order that interest the Lady,” said Tristan, “I am the lucky fellow she chose to infiltrate their organization and this is where I ended up: on the edge of civilization trying to turn six farm boys into soldiers. I still do not have any idea how this will end, but such is my mission. What about you?”

  “I am spending most of my time chasing evil things back across the border and trying to keep bandits and people like you from taking advantage of the locals under my charge,” said Raul, “the beastly things we are used to seeing deep within the Wilds are now lurking on its very borders. Evil is stirring and we will be hard pressed to turn it back if it makes a concerted effort.” This was grave news, but not surprising. Evil seemed to be abroad and growing all over the world, civilized or not. Something was brewing and only time would tell what. They talked well into the night and the sun was starting to rise before Raul crept silently out into the misty morning. It had been good to see one of the Brethren, if only briefly. Tristan could not understand how Raul could look at him and the mare without noticing who and what they were. The Brethren had the ability to discern one another by sight. Perhaps he had not been expecting to find a Brother in the ranks of the Order and so had not been looking for one. Whatever the reason, it was time he had some sleep; it would be several hours before any of the others were abroad.