The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  “It escapes me why both your side and this kingdom would agree to a cease-fire overnight. Wouldn’t you customarily go down there and start hacking soldiers to bits in the night?”

  “Perhaps. Fighting at night is tricky business, though. And the enemy [Commander] requested the truce.”

  “And you accepted it? That seems idiotic to me.”

  Drevish’s eyebrows rose, but Flos smiled. He raised his voice as he heard someone else approaching.

  “They fight with honor. The [Commander] assured me not one of his soldiers would violate the terms of the truce. I took him at his word.”

  “And if he lied? What if he’s marching an army to attack this camp right now, or sending another bunch of those delightful [Assassins] that have been popping up lately?”

  “Well, that too would be interesting. Is this a man who believes in honor, or will he compromise it? What do you think, Amerys?”

  Flos turned, and the woman who floated down out of the sky smiled at him. Amerys, the Calm Flower of the Battlefield as she was known, smiled as the flight spell let her descend next to Flos.

  Drevish turned and eyed Amerys; she ignored him as she considered her King’s question.

  “I think that if you gave me the order, I would be happy to attack right now. But if you want to find what this other commander is made of, why not walk in front of his camp naked and see what he does?”

  Flos roared with laughter. Drevish shook his head. Muttering, he reached for a soft, round object sitting to his left. It was a kneaded eraser, something that had intrigued Flos greatly. The malleable putty could erase the charcoal from the parchment. But the old man’s hand slipped and knocked the round ball off the side of the rock.

  He cursed, but a gauntleted hand caught the eraser as it fell. Gazi leapt up onto the rock, making the [Architect] jerk backwards. She smiled as she offered Drevish the eraser.

  He glared at her. Drevish held out a hand and the eraser was dropped into it.

  “Move. You’re blocking my view. I have little light left to work with.”

  Gazi did, walking quietly over to where Flos sat. She took his right side, Amerys his left. The two didn’t quite glare at each other, but Flos knew better than to expect either to greet the other.

  “So, Gazi. What have you seen?”

  The half-Gazer smiled. Her central eye flicked to the enemy camp, miles away.

  “I have seen several mages on the left. They are mixing with the soldiers there. Meanwhile, the cavalry is bunched up near the rear, although they pretend to occupy the right.”

  “So they want to circle around and hit us from the side while the mages surprise us on the left? I’ve heard of worse plans.”

  Amerys shrugged. She looked unconcerned with the upcoming battle. But the two who reached the top of the hill last were not so sanguine.

  “They could be trying that Amerys, or they might know of Gazi’s eye and be baiting us. Either way, I would like to take out those mages before the battle lines are locked.”

  Orthenon and a bird-man, one of the natives to this land known as Garuda, approached the group. Amerys waved a hand, Gazi smiled without turning her head as one of her eyes rolled back in its socket; Drevish just turned his head and grunted.

  “Takahatres. Orthenon. Tell me one of you has brought wine or something else to drink.”

  “I have brought two wine flasks. Orthenon has the cups, my lord.”

  The bird man unshouldered the two bags of wine as Orthenon tossed a cup at Gazi. The [Scout] caught it without turning her head.

  No one spoke for a minute. Takahatres poured wine from one flask while Orthenon did the same with the other. The Garuda advanced to the place where Drevish was sitting, and offered him a cup. The [Architect] gave him an approving grunt, and Flos accepted his cup from Orthenon with thanks.

  Soon, all six people had a drink. Amerys and Drevish sipped at their drinks while the others drank faster. They didn’t speak much; they didn’t need to. But in the end it was Orthenon who broke the silence.

  “Tomorrow, I would like Amerys to attack the left flank. If you can tie up that side, we will focus on the center and right.”

  “Oh? You’re not going to have me take out those mages?”

  “That’s my job.”

  Takahatres filled his cup with more wine. He wouldn’t drink more than two cups that night, Flos knew. The Garuda sipped his second cup very slowly, making his drink last.

  “I will lead my kin into the left as you attack. Try not to hit us. We’ll take out the mages; you just engage their front for a few minutes and then you can do what you want.”

  “Fine. Try not to get in the way of my lightning.”

  “Try to aim.”

  Orthenon cleared his throat, looking displeased. He shifted as he knelt next to his King. Flos glanced at him and saw the single-edged sword at his belt trailing on the rock. Orthenon was dressed for war, but it always intrigued Flos how he chose to fight.

  He wasn’t wearing plate armor like Flos, or Gazi’s brown scale armor. Instead, he was wearing leather, form-fitting and enchanted. That was also unlike Drevish, who was wearing clothing since he wouldn’t be fighting tomorrow and Takahatres, who was wearing only a cloth around his midriff. Amerys was wearing her robes, but given that they were enchanted as well, she was probably the most well-armored out of anyone in the group excepting Gazi.

  Now the men shifted again, only without the audible creak that accompanied Flos’s movements. The King absently felt at the offending part of his armor as his steward explained the rest of tomorrow’s strategy to the others.

  “While Takahatres and Amerys deal with the mages, Gazi will attack the rear and whatever spots she deems most important.”

  “As normal.”

  Drevish snorted. Orthenon paused and stared at the old man’s back. Drevish raised a hand in half-hearted apology and the steward continued.

  “Finally, my lord and I will lead the vanguard straight into the right flank. We’ll leave the rest of our mages and archers in the back—Takahatres will pull back and protect them after he is done with the mages.”

  “A fine plan.”

  Flos smiled as he looked out over the battlefield. There was so much grass there. He could see it even in the darkness that now enveloped the land. But soon that grass would be muddy and trampled, stained with blood. That bothered him as much as the lives that would be lost.

  “Are you expecting any surprises?”

  Gazi turned and looked at Orthenon. The man shook his head.

  “None. But if there are…Mars is on the way. She should arrive at midday—sooner if she’s marching as fast as I think.”

  “We could wait for her and smash this army between both ours and hers.”

  Amerys smiled. Takahatres and Orthenon looked disapproving. Flos shook his head as he finished his cup.

  “We could. But that would not be honorable, Amerys.”

  “Oh very well. In that case, I shall do my best to kill as many soldiers tomorrow as I can—honorably, of course.”

  Her remark elicited a glare from the two warriors, but Gazi smirked. Flos just shook his head as he stared down at the burning fires of the camp below. All fell silent. After a few more minutes, Drevish spoke.

  “On another note, I have located quite a fine spot to build a defensive tower. When the battle’s over I’ll see about laying down the foundations.”

  “A tower to go along with your new wall?”

  Flos chuckled. His voice was lower, and he felt calm. He thought he might sleep here if the others wouldn’t have objected. He was at peace in this moment, surrounded by five of the people who had become his sworn companions. His friends.

  “Why not? You can spare a few [Archers] for it, surely. Do not quibble over my designs if you won’t do the same for your other vassals.”

  Drevish half-turned and scowled at his King. That was an offense that Orthenon and Takahatres wouldn’t have ever dreamed of, but Flos was used
to it.

  In a way, the [Architect]’s presence had not been necessary to the night’s meeting. He would not participate in the battle. Rather, Flos suspected he would sleep right through it, if he didn’t end up sketching plans for a new fortress in his tent.

  He didn’t need to be here. But in another sense, he absolutely had to be with them. He knew it, and the others knew it. And it was Amerys who gave voice to that feeling. She smiled as she leaned against her King.

  “This is the first time in what, two years? The first time we’ve had four of the Seven together, not counting Orthenon and my liege.”

  “True. And tomorrow it will be five.”

  Takahatres stared pensively out into the darkness. He shifted from one leg to the other; he had trouble sitting for long periods.

  “It is a shame the others couldn’t be here. But then, it is also pointless to have us all together. We are too strong for any one army in this region.”

  Flos turned to look down at Gazi. She was shorter than he was, and she stared out at the enemy’s camp, her other eyes scanning the hilltop. Always watchful, almost wary of any threat to her [King].

  The others sitting around Flos made similar noises of agreement and regret. But it was Flos who felt something stir in his chest. He sighed as he placed his cup on the ground, empty.

  “It is true there is little merit to keeping us together for strategy’s sake. But pointless? No. There is meaning to this.”

  His words silenced the others. They stood or sat with him, staring out into the darkness. All was silent. All was calm. And as Flos sat, looking at his companions, he smiled. He was thousands of miles from the place he had grown up, in a distant land, about to fight another battle against a nation whose name had already been forgotten.

  But here, in this moment, he was home.

  Flos reached out, looking for his cup. He knew what came next. He would lift his empty cup and Orthenon would check whether there was any wine to fill it. He knew Gazi would smile as she wickedly told him he had drunk the last of it. In a moment Amerys would offer to fly down and steal some from the soldiers. Drevish would encourage her and Takahatres would lose patience and run down and get some in a flash, and Flos would be laughing too hard to tell any of them he hadn’t wanted a drink, merely to toast in spirit.

  All that would happen in moments, Flos knew. It would be a perfect interlude before they slept, before the battle. So he reached for his cup—

  And then he woke up.

  The man known to the world as Flos, the King of Destruction, woke up in his bed. It was familiar to him. It had been the place he had slept for the last ten years. Though the mattress had been changed, the frame of the bed, deep, expensive wood, and the large room had not. Flos sat up as the dawn’s light fell on him. It was that which had woken him from his sleep. Even after a decade, he rose with the dawn.

  But he did not get out of bed. Flos stared at the wall of his bedroom, not staring at anything in the waking world, but chasing that dream, that vision of the past.

  It was no use. It slipped away from him, fading with each moment. Soon, it was just a hazy recollection, not the reality he had experienced. For a second Flos could still taste the cheap wine on his tongue, feel the stone beneath his legs and the ill-fitting armor digging into his shoulder—

  And then it was gone. It was all gone. Flos looked around the room and felt years settle on him like stones. He remembered, and saw the block of ice sitting on the table across from him. Staring at him.

  Flos buried his head in his hands. The man wept. He let grief overtake him for a minute, and then six. But then he stood, and dressed himself. He threw open the curtains and let the sun bathe him for a second. He stared down at a kingdom below, a ruined city, neglected. But burning now, already moving as the people below woke. They were not dead. The spark lived in them. The man took a deep breath of the air.

  And when he threw open the doors to his room and strode out, he was a King.

  —-

  Trey Atwood was eating breakfast when Flos woke up. He knew that because he could feel it. That was the thing about living in the proximity of Flos, the legendary King of Destruction. You could tell when he was nearby, and you could tell when he woke up.

  It was like a little shock to the spine. It made Trey’s heart jump, and he looked up from his plate of crunchy bacon bits. He’d been quite enjoying his meal—proper rashers, not the greasy bacon he’d been forced to eat when he’d stayed at that international hotel one time. This was thick, chewy meat which he loved, and he’d specifically requested the crunchy fried bits.

  “I think he woke up, Teres.”

  “Of course he did.”

  Sitting next to him at one of the dining tables in the banquet hall, his twin sister Teresa, who preferred to be called Teres, turned and frowned at Trey. He knew he didn’t need to say it. She’d felt the same thing.

  “I reckon he’s going to be here in five minutes, what do you think?”

  “Two. And you’d better finish eating your veg. You know he’s going to be eating while he walks again.”

  Teres reached over and stole half of Trey’s remaining bits of crispy bacon. He groaned, and groaned harder when she turned his plate so he could stare at the orange tubes on them. Even in another world, he still didn’t like the vegetables.

  “Aw. Teresa…”

  She elbowed him. He knew she hated it when he called her by her full name. Reluctantly, Trey began crunching down on the orange vegetables, called Yellats, grumbling about how they’d gone cold.

  In truth, these vegetables were a lot more fun to eat than asparagus, spinach, or most of the other greens Trey had suffered through back home. They were spicy, and they crunched delightfully loud between the teeth. They were a treat when fried hot with oil, but since Trey always left them for last, he always ate them cold.

  Always, meaning for the last month, really. It was an odd thought, but Trey had hardly been in this world, this new world filled with levels and classes and Skills, for more than a few weeks. It was incredible to him, but there it was.

  He was in another world. And not only that, he was a guest in the palace of a king. Not just any king, too. The King of Destruction, one of the most famous people in this world, a man whose name was known in every part of it for his legendary kingdom’s rise and sudden collapse. The man who had been slumbering, asleep in his palace for ten years.

  Until Trey and Teres had accidentally fallen into his throne room and woken him up. That moment would be forever engraved in Trey’s memory. He and his sister had stepped off the subway car’s ledge, expecting to walk out onto the platform and head back home. Instead, the ground had disappeared beneath them.

  They’d fallen, landing in a magnificent, grand, empty room where a man sat in a small chair. He’d looked up and seen them. And Trey had picked himself up, heart pounding, and stared into two empty eyes, a tired face. He had looked at a man who looked worn down by the years, hunched, alone.

  That was how they met Flos, the King of Destruction. After that, men with swords had rushed in, and Orthenon had nearly run Trey through before Flos had stopped them. And then, well, they’d told them everything.

  One month later, here they were. Flos was awake, which was pretty important, and Trey was used to eating his food on a wood platter with a knife, rather than on proper plates. It wasn’t exactly a series of events that made sense to Trey, but he had eventually come to terms with it. Except for one bit, actually.

  “It ought to have been a train station.”

  Teres looked up. She was chewing down the last of her bacon, and she stared pointedly at the remaining orange tubes, and Trey glumly speared one.

  His twin didn’t need to ask what Trey meant. She just had to think for a few seconds as she chewed. While both she and Trey weren’t identical twins on a genetic level, they were close enough that they could usually understand what the other one was thinking.

  After a second, Teres understood what Trey me
ant. She scowled at him.

  “Well, it wasn’t. And the subway’s close enough, so stop complaining!”

  “I’m just saying, if it was a train station it would make sense.”

  “You’re not Harry Potter. You’re not good enough to be Ron Weasley. You don’t have a wand and you can’t do magic. What’s wrong with a subway?”

  “I dunno. It’s just…weird. And I could have a wand. They exist in this world.”

  Teres rolled her eyes, but Trey refused to concede the point. They were alike, the two of them, but differed on some fundamental issues. For instance, Trey firmly believed a train station platform would have been cooler and more traditional. Teres thought he was an idiot for worrying about it at all.

  “What do you think he’ll do today?”

  “Dunno. Fix more walls? Look at maps? We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

  That was true. Trey glumly gulped down the last of his food and pushed his platter away. Teres folded her arms as she stared down at her plate. They would have to see. And they would see. Because they had a special role in this world, now.

  They were servants to Flos. Servants to the King.

  They didn’t have the class, actually. Orthenon had told them not to think of it like that. Trey and Teres were more like aides, although they would eventually be expected to fulfill the roles of bodyguards and assistants as well. As such, they were required to follow Flos around, mostly watching as he attended to the needs of his kingdom.

  And there were a lot of them. And Trey understood that things like finding food for the hungry people, or making sure the walls were all intact in case an army showed up were essential—as was studying maps of the world and sending messages to allies and so on and so forth.

  But he was confused, because he wasn’t sure why they were here. Here, in this faded kingdom, when he expected to be out, marching in an army. For the kingdom was at war. They were at war, and the knowledge of it hummed in Trey’s blood at times. And yet here they were, growing accustomed to a life in this palace. Yet they were at war.

  A contradiction. They were at war, but they weren’t going to war. Not yet, at least.