Prince on the Run

by Guy Antibes

  Boxster looked back at the woman’s body. “Your arrow, I presume?”

  Trevor nodded. “Two firsts,” he said, feeling awful. “My first human kill as an archer and my first woman. I can’t say I’m proud of what I’ve done today.”

  “You saved a lot of lives. You took down almost half of the bandits and saved your men’s lives.”

  Trevor nodded, feeling a little better about it all.

  “How many men did we lose?” He asked.

  “Let’s find out,” Boxster said, getting to his feet.

  Liftson walked up. “One of the scouts and Washkin are dead as are one more of his men and two of mine. That makes five dead, and there are less than that injured.”

  “We will load our dead on the horses and leave the brigands where they died. I assume none made it?”

  “They didn’t make it after we counted them,” a soldier said.

  Trevor watched as his men looted the corpses. Boxster stopped him from saying something.

  “Let them loot. There will be slim pickings, I imagine,” the sergeant said.

  Trevor nodded. He walked over to Washkin’s body. He had his doubts about the skinny man when he first met him, but Trevor had found him brave, loyal, and a good master soldier.

  The walk into the next small town was a somber one. Trevor was glad there were no other incidents. They buried their dead in the town cemetery. Liftson had said it wasn’t army policy to return bodies to the garrison if the patrol was more than a few days away.

  Trevor was uncomfortable, giving them a lonely grave, but he consoled himself by thinking that they would enter Dryden’s Fields as a group. Not so alone, if he thought of the line of grave markers that way.

  He treated his remaining soldiers to a wake at one of the town’s pubs. Some of his charges were subdued, and others were having a good time. People were different, he guessed.

  “Not celebrating?” Boxster asked.

  “I don’t feel like it,” Trevor said.

  “Remember when we talked about controlling your emotions in Tarviston? It’s time to practice a little of it here. You don’t have to be happy, but no moping,” Boxster said. “You are a leader, and everyone notices. But remember this, they will notice that even though you aren’t leading the group. You have, haven’t you?”

  Trevor nodded. “I have to admit; I don’t know how not to mope.”

  “Think happy thoughts, and things will balance out, just not melancholy memories, happy memories. Remember how you felt in the jousting field.”

  “I was very happy.”

  “Good, remember happy. That is what I do.”

  “You have had good times in your travels?” Trevor asked.

  “I have. There were plenty of days like today. There are no reasons to remember those other than to provide a little perspective if I’m feeling too arrogant,” Boxster said.

  Boxster was good at arrogant, Trevor thought.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ~

  T revor stood at attention in front of General Greenwood. The man held the report that he and Boxster had submitted.

  “One of the men said that you ran into the forest to trade arrows with an archer,” the general said.

  “I did. I’m an excellent archer, and the man had almost succeeded in killing me. I didn’t want the men picked off, so I slipped off my horse and followed him. After I prevailed, I went to the battle site and did my part to save my company’s lives.”

  “That sounds almost noble,” the general said, “but it is also unacceptable.” The man frowned. “There were two major mistakes you made. Deserting your command and following the woman into an ambush in the first place. You should have had the woman point out the village on a map. There wasn’t a village where they confronted you.”

  “We understood there was a good possibility for an ambush. I sent—”

  “I know. You wasted the life of a master soldier…”

  The general has sent him a castoff, Trevor said in his mind, but Washkin was no castoff.

  “…and a scout. They are valuable out here. What do you have to say?”

  “The orders you gave me said to engage brigands and thieves in the wood as well as report any West Moreton incursions. I haven’t confronted the West Moretons yet, but I have fought brigands.”

  “You are too hasty,” General Greenwood said.

  “I didn’t massacre the villagers that we encountered. I exercised my discretion and talked to them rather than fight them.”

  General Greenwood stood from behind his desk. “And that deserves some kind of reward?”

  “No, sir,” Trevor said. He kept his mouth shut as he realized he would have to treat Greenwood like he did his father. The less said, the better, and an angry disposition had replaced Greenwood’s reasonable demeanor. He’d have to take his lumps.

  “Consider yourself confined to the garrison for three weeks. You are dismissed.”

  Trevor saluted and left the general’s office, heading to his own space where Boxster waited for him like he usually did.

  “Orders?” Boxster asked.

  “None for three weeks. I am confined to the garrison.”

  “I thought as much. They didn’t like your going off with a bow and arrows?”

  Trevor shook his head. “No. And he didn’t like heading into the woods without having the woman show us where her village was on a map.”

  Boxster’s eyebrows rose. “You told him—”

  “I tried to give him some perspective, but he wasn’t in the mood to be told anything. I know what to do in that situation with a superior, usually my father. I keep my mouth shut. I have lots of practice doing that, even if I wasn’t successful all the time. I didn’t expect to be on such a tight leash all of a sudden. I don’t know what happened to the general.”

  “He might have been given orders about how to treat you. What will you do?”

  “Read books on military strategy, I guess.” Trevor looked at Boxster. “I won’t mope. At least, I won’t show it. I’ll take advantage of the time to practice with my weapons and do some book learning. You can help me with that?”

  Boxster nodded. “Of course.”

  The next day, Boxster found Trevor on the archery range, his only permitted place outside the garrison.

  Boxster nudged a rock with his foot. “You are on your own. The general has assigned me to another patrol. Can you handle that? It looks like your company is being disbanded too. I guess we did too good a job seasoning our men.”

  Trevor shook his head in exasperation. “I suppose success is punished in the army.”

  “Sometimes it is,” Boxster said. “Hit the books while I’m gone. I don’t need to help you with the big words anymore.”

  Trevor smiled and patted Boxster on the shoulder. “Stay safe. If they disband the company, it will be interesting to see where I go after my three weeks are up.”

  Boxster saluted and walked away. Trevor concentrated on not turning his head to watch his friend go. Happy thoughts seemed inappropriate, and he didn’t know what appropriate thoughts would be. He’d miss having Boxster around.

  ~

  Trevor didn’t know that being confined to the garrison meant that others would mostly ignore him. His old company mates gave him a salute, but few others did. He wondered if he was cut out for the army after all. It was his only goal since he learned to swing a sword, and after years of training, he still didn’t feel like he fit in.

  He did find sparring partners, swordsmen who thought he would be an easy match. Trevor delighted in proving them wrong until opponents dried up within his first week. Such a thing had just happened at the barracks before Desolation Boxster showed up. Trevor decided he would exercise by himself and begin studying his books and the ones in the garrison library.

  After sitting in the library for half an hour wondering what he should read next, Trevor decided he would learn more about scouting. The first book was a thin volume, more of a journal than a book, bu
t as Trevor read through it, he could see the lessons inherent between the lines.

  He ended up reading the journal three times; the last time, he wrote notes about what he thought were the cogent parts. There were more of those than he had expected. He identified the apparent reasoning behind the scout’s actions and documented the failures, looking for what made success and what contributed to failure. There were even discussions on sentry strategies, which were more related than Trevor had thought.

  They had used their scouts better in their second expedition than in the first one. The main band of assassins should have never been able to surprise Trevor’s company. He took another piece of paper and wrote out the scenario and tried to apply the lessons in the book. He found that he should have had another scout, or used Boxster as a scout, to keep an eye out on the idle company at the same time Trevor met the small group cooking dinner for the attackers.

  But then using an officer as a scout wasn’t a good idea after all, Trevor realized, as he analyzed his solution. He should have never sent Washkin with the scouts, and the company had paid for Trevor’s mistake. Boxster advised him and made the same mistake. Completing a successful patrol was more complicated than Trevor had realized, but much of the complexity could be dealt with by common sense. There was a lesson in that too.

  He ended up asking more questions than the journal answered, but he would find another copy of the journal for his use once he was released from his confinement. Listing all the questions took him four days, and that included thinking about the issues of scouting while he practiced.

  The next book that he tackled talked about the topology of Presidon. Trevor knew where many cities and towns were, but he didn’t have them placed in their settings. He had never realized that the town of Red Forest was nestled just at the northern tip of the actual Red Forest. Its position hadn’t been a subject that Trevor thought about, but the description that Trevor read about its strategic importance made perfect sense. If he were to succeed putting down external threats for Presidon in the long term, he would need to learn how to navigate in Presidon. That was more important than being able to recite every city and town in the realm by rote.

  This proved to be a harder slog. Trevor found himself waking up too many times after reading. He decided that wasn’t working, so he began to draw his version of Presidon maps both from the maps inscribed into the books and descriptions of the land from the content.

  Boxster’s patrol returned with vague reports of West Moreton movements in the south. Trevor was able to spend an hour going over his progress and talking a bit about the patrol before Boxster was summoned to commence preparing for a second, more extended expedition.

  As he created the maps, he thought of the scouting journal, and created scenarios based on the concepts talked about in the journal, using various locales and the same mix of men in his former company. Then he thought of creating different companies and tried out scouting scenarios with those. It all became a game that took up hours of Trevor’s time. He was almost disappointed when his three weeks were up. His office was full of papers, maps, diagrams, and notes on his attempts at playing both the army and the bandits, but he did find a second journal that was much thicker.

  Boxster’s company hadn’t returned from his second patrol, and that made Trevor a bit uneasy about his next company if there would be one. From a theoretical point of view, Trevor knew he had picked up a lot of information, but he knew that experience was necessary. He had learned that from Boxster, but the journal reinforced that concept.

  Trevor wasn’t summoned to General Greenwood’s office until midway through the fourth week. His collection of scouting notes increased during his extra time of restriction. Boxster would be returning as part of a company that had taken a beating from a significant incursion by the West Moreton army.

  General Greenwood didn’t look happy when Trevor entered the general’s office. Trevor had kept to himself during his confinement and knew no reason why the general would be displeased.

  “You’ll be leaving with a battalion in ten days,” the general said. “Your friend, Desolation Boxster, should be healed enough by then to return to your side.” The general screwed his face up as if his big toe hurt. “You’ll have a company of three squads. Two of our officers didn’t return from the battle with West Moreton soldiers.”

  “There were others injured who can return to the field?” Trevor asked.

  “Of course. If Sergeant Boxster was injured, don’t you think we took a beating?”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Your company will need to be assembled, and have them spend as much training time as they can in the next ten days before we will go hunting for the bandit soldiers.”

  Trevor wouldn’t call them bandit soldiers, but if they were fighting on Presidonian soil, they were enemies.

  “I will send you a roster of your men as soon as I’ve completed it. You are dismissed. I suppose you are anxious to get into Red Forest town?”

  “Not really, sir, but I will visit the town just because I can.”

  ~

  Trevor scoured the two bookshops in Red Forest, but he couldn’t find a copy of the scouting journal. He did buy two books on company strategies suited for small units that were old and dog-eared. Unlike the books that Boxster had selected for him, these were written with a more practical vantage point. Trevor didn’t want to resort to solutions devised solely by officers. He already had a few books like that.

  He ate in the pub where the Brachian singers once sang. It had lost its allure without Boxster and the performers, but the food was definitely better than what the army served. The market didn’t have anything that Trevor was interested in. There was a weapons shop on the walk out of town. It wasn’t a fancy place, but it looked busy.

  “New to the garrison?” the shopkeeper said when he had finished with a man and his three sons.

  “Not particularly. I’m between units,” Trevor said. “I have a little time to myself and saw your shop.”

  The shopkeeper smiled. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

  Trevor shook his head. “No, just looking.”

  “A sword? Yours doesn’t look too fancy.”

  The comment brought a smile to Trevor’s face. “Does a sword have to look good to be good?”

  “Let me see what you consider a good sword,” the shopkeeper said.

  Trevor drew his sword and laid it on the counter.

  The shopkeeper lifted and twisted it so he could look down the sharp edge. He looked up at Trevor. “This has seen some use.”

  Trevor nodded. “On the practice field, in a tournament in Tarviston, and a few patrols.”

  “You haven’t neglected it,” the shopkeeper said. “Are you looking for another just like it?”

  “Not particularly. Do you have anything that might suit a person who cares about performance rather than looks?”

  “Officers typically seek out the fancier swords. I have a few in the back that you might be interested in. Do you have any magic?”

  Trevor chuckled. “Magic in Presidon?” He shook his head. “I don’t have the barest spark.”

  “Let me take care of this customer, and then I’ll let you look at them.”

  Trevor didn’t have anything better to do but return and play some more scouting games. He waited for three more customers until the shop emptied. The shopkeeper disappeared and brought out two swords in plain scabbards. He drew one of them and gave it to Trevor.

  “Swing this and tell me what you think.”

  Trevor turned away from the counter and gave it a few swings.

  “Heavy and isn’t weighted right.”

  “You are correct. You don’t have a lick of magic. If you did, it would feel lighter, and the balance would be perfect.” The shopkeeper replaced the enchanted sword in its scabbard and pulled out the second sword. “You probably wouldn’t have been able to afford that one, anyway, even if the army let you use it.�
��

  “Two reasons not to buy,” Trevor said, genially.

  He took the next sword and took a swing. “This is more like it,” Trevor said, holding the sword upright and looking at the blade. “The balance is almost perfect, better than my current sword. The shape is different than others, and what is this mottling in the surface?”

  “Jarkan,” the shopkeeper said. “Their traditional blades are much heavier and always out of balance since they are horsemen and are reputed not to use swords when not on a horse. This is special because it has different steel than any you will find. That mottling goes all the way through the steel. It is harder, yet flexible and keeps an edge.”

  “Is it magic?” Trevor asked.

  The shopkeeper pursed his lips. “I can’t say there wasn’t magic in making it, but none I’ve shown it to have detected any magical properties. The feel for balance varies from swordsman to swordsman. The customers I have shown this to generally say the balance is too hilt heavy.”

  Trevor took a few more swings. “Not for me. The hilt is a bit different, but it doesn’t feel odd.”

  “It will shine up well enough, but the sheen doesn’t seem to last as long as others. Are you interested?”

  “It is more expensive than the magic blade?” Trevor asked.

  “Half the price, Prince Arcwin,” the shopkeeper said. “I went to the Summer Tourney and saw your victory in the sword competition.”

  “That is why the price is half?”

  The shopkeeper shook his head and told him the price for the magical blade. Trevor was astounded. He gave the prince a price that was still steep, but doable if Trevor scoured out his funds.

  Trevor started at the blade and the scabbard. “I’d be happy to trade in this blade, but it is army issue.”

  The shopkeeper smiled and nodded. “I know that, of course, but officers can buy their own weapons.”

  Trevor still held onto the sword, and it seemed to mold itself into his hand as they spoke. He put it on the counter, and the hilt hadn’t changed. “I’ll be back in less than an hour,” Trevor said.

  “It will be waiting,” the shopkeeper said. “I think this sword is meant for you. I’ve been waiting for the right customer, and I am certain you are he.”