"Why do the girls we rescued seem so subservient, Alvaldi?" he whispered to the man sitting next to him, low enough so the others could not hear. He asked Alvaldi because, though they had only known each other for a handful of hours, the other man was rock steady and a growing friendship had already sprung up between them.
"She's old enough and certainly pretty enough to have been married. She might even have a child or two. When the Illian came through, they killed all the men and male offspring, and female children under eight. She's homeless, penniless, only has the clothes on her back and most likely has little mouths to feed. She is looking for a new husband, of course. In fact, I would guarantee she has children. She's too pretty not to have been married for at least two years," he whispered back.
John was aghast. "But doesn't the king take care of people in situations like this?
"Yes, and no. When we get to the city, she and her young ones can take refuge at any of the churches. The churches will feed and clothe her for as long as she stays there and does her prayers. The king provides each church a yearly stipend for this service, and for the general upkeep of their buildings, which is more than most kings do." Alvaldi paused, laying a friendly hand on John's forearm. "Look John, Korath may be wealthy, but we're not that wealthy. It's the best we can do for them." John sighed as he thought about it, then turned to the others. He didn't like the fact that women and their children, including the poor, were treated as second class citizens. But, at this time there was nothing he could do about it.
"Sir, I noticed the Illians had their own wizards. In fact, those wizards accounted for nearly half of our losses. Do we have wizards? And, if so, where are they? Because they sure would have been handy this morning" John said, addressing the commander.
"They're hiding back at the capital, John. As a rule, wizards do not risk their necks often and are a rare breed. Only a few dozen are born each year in Korath, and many die at a young age. Generally speaking, wizards are not in the best of health and are usually frail, weak individuals. Those that survive past childhood often take on arrogant airs and are a real pain to work with. Personally, I would rather do without them. Besides, I'm old enough to have witnessed over a half dozen full Illian incursions, and I've never seen their wizards supporting field units until now. That is indeed strange and unheard of." The commander finished his monolog and took another large swallow from his own tankard as he stared into the fire. Rousing himself, he added a final comment. "Those fireballs they cast can only be thrown a limited distance and I would prefer to stand off a hundred paces and fill their bodies with arrows while out of range of their magic."
"Sorry Commander, it just seemed a little one-sided to me."
"No apologies are necessary, Captain. You did Korath a tremendous favor by taking them out for us. I counted no less than six wizards amongst the dead and that has to hurt Illian."
John nodded, taking another swallow while leaning back against Onias's saddle, pondering what he had learned so far about this world. Silence ensued for the moment while the fire crackled in the thrown together pit before them, before the others started filling John in on the details of life in the capital. How many people were in the capital, the general number of guard. Also, the basic physical layout was discussed along with the political entities that resided there.
It was quite some time later that he was able to break away from the group and stumble to the tent. Alf had the men prepare for him. Stripping his clothes off awkwardly in his half-drunken state, he crawled between the blankets in only his night shorts, rolling over on his side with eyes closed, knowing sleep would come shortly.
However, no sooner had he started to drift off, he felt a cool draft as the blankets were raised and a warm, soft, hand touched his side, causing him to yelp and roll off the cot in the opposite direction. Reaching for his sword, which lay beneath his cot, he arrested the motion. By the dim flickering glow of nearby campfires filtering through the sides of the tent, he saw who had come for him: The raven-haired girl from the campfire, the one who served him ale.
"Girl," he said harshly. "What are you doing in my tent?"
"My Lord, I came to see if there was anything else you needed, anything at all," she whispered shyly in the darkness, her head hung, hair mostly obscuring her face. She was now wearing a robe, which hung open, but he refused to let his gaze travel downward just in case she was…
"Nooo. Thank you for asking, though. I'm fine, just tired and needing sleep." His voice was gentler now. He regretted the harsh tones of his voice a moment before.
"Please, my Lord. My man is dead, and I've two hungry mouths to feed," she whimpered, and John sighed as he realized Alvaldi was correct.
"Look, what's your name, girl?" he asked.
"Braire, my Lord," she said and now he could detect a hint of hope in her voice and she moved closer.
"Look, Braire, my name is John. When we get to the city, I'm told the churches will take you in and feed and clothe you and your children. They'll find you a good place to stay."
"Hardly, my Lord. We'll get bread and soup once a day, and everyone will sleep in a common room on top of each other. No decent man will have me after I turn church's beggar. Please, my Lord." Again, her hand was reaching for him, but he fended it off while reaching for his pants. Tied to a loop was a pouch containing coins of the kingdom, the heaviest being made of gold. Alf had told him Onias was a wealthy man, due to successful gambling and winning frequent weapons competitions. There were quite a few of the heavy ones in the large pouch. John withdrew one of them, took the woman’s outstretched right hand, and pressed the coin into her soft palm.
"Here little one, take this and use it wisely. It should see you through until you can find someone decent and caring for you and your children," he said in a kind voice.
"Oh my Goddess Hera, you've given me gold, my Lord!" she cried. To John’s surprise, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Now he was very glad he hadn't looked downward. The heat of a blush radiated all the way down his neck. Gently, he pushed her away, kissing her forehead.
"But, my Lord, this is a year's wages for a farm hand. It's too much. Please give me something smaller." She continued to cry in a pitiful voice as a trembling hand held the golden coin back out to him but he simply smiled and curled her fingers tightly around its engraved surface.
"No, Braire. you keep that. You've more than earned it by trying to give it back. Yes, I knew exactly how much I was giving you. Now go take care of your babies, and let me get some sleep."
"Oh, thank you, my Lord, and may Hera bless you thrice, you and your children," she cried out as she fled the tent. John quickly strode to the door flaps and tied them securely together before returning to his cot, lying down. As sleep began to overtake him, he heard…
[You did well, my son. I am very proud of you.] The warm comforting words of the mother filled his thoughts, and he finally drifted off. During his slumber, a few more hopefuls tugged at the flaps but were unable to undo the knots. Blissfully unaware, John slept like the dead.
Chapter 4
~Elsa~
The first few months of her instruction into the guard had been both eventful and grueling, to say the least. Her sisters and father given tearful goodbyes, she soon found herself in the company of Sub-Captain Milstein. It was then that she learned the King's Own only accepted veterans of hard fought battles into their ranks which unqualified her as yet. However, Commander Morre, according to the sub-captain, had assigned her to Wolf Company. Captain Gusa headed this scout company., and was located along the eastern border with Illian.
It was upon assignment to Gusa's company that Elsa found herself at a disadvantage, for scouts were not foot soldiers and in fact rode horses everywhere. What little experience she did have with the equine breed was guiding a plow hitched behind one. This phase of her training might have set her back had Gunnor not come to her rescue. Gunnor was a superb horseman, and he was also instrumental in training her qui
ckly in the use of shield tactics for defensive and offensive fighting.
Though vanquished in her initial trial for the guard, Gunnor had turned into a good friend who was always willing to help when she had a question or needed extra training. In their subsequent practice spars, he was even able to trounce her occasionally, most of the time when they used shields. Then, his much heavier frame was to his advantage. Soon they developed a brother/sister relationship, with both learning from the other. She was thankful of that because, even though he had turned into a great friend, she did not have feelings for him in a romantic way.
Each morning, the training platoon of the company rose at dawn, ate their morning meal of meat-filled bread, and then donned the special practice armor. The armor added sixty pounds to their weight, it was spread evenly around the body. After jogging two miles to the practice field, they warmed up with solo blade work for a time before moving on to sparring against each other with sword and shield. Both single and multiple opponents were engaged, and it was a rare morning when Elsa was not exhausted by the time they moved on to archery practice.
Spears followed archery, then they went to the bathhouse before noon meal. Her first few times in the bathhouse had been excruciatingly embarrassing as she was forced to strip naked and cleanse herself in the company of others. She eventually became accustomed to this aspect of her training and learned to disregard the whistles and comments that came her way as she disrobed.
Fraternization within a company was strictly against guard rules, which made their attention a moot point. History had shown couples to pay more attention to each other when in battle versus the commands of their commander, which resulted in more than one company lost in fighting. The punishment, if caught, was severe and nobody took the chance. First offense earned both partners three stripes across the bare back at the public whipping post, ten for the second, and expulsion from the guard for the third along with ten lashes. As a result, all they would or could do was look and whistle, which they did plenty.
The noon meal invariably consisted of wheat or barley gruel with beans and chunks of meat, along with bread and ale or water. Sometimes fruit juices were substituted if they were available, which was not often. The afternoon saw the recruits in classes and taught proper guard etiquette the deportment while on patrol, and basic city manners of all kinds. There was also a class in tactics for those considered gifted enough to understand strategies, which was a class in which Elsa was not only included but excelled. As it grew dark, the evening meal of roasted meat, bread, a thick slice of cheese, and plenty of ale began. To say the guard force lived on ale would be an understatement, though some ales tasted better than others, and the soldiers knew they were only offered immature batches of the hoppy, slightly alcoholic product.
Elsa needed no instruction in the sword, bow, or spear, as no one in the company could beat her, but because of this, she spent most of her morning helping the other company veterans train.. The single time she had complained about this to her platoon leader had resulted in an explanation and punishment. The punishment she would not soon forget. It had resulted in running ten miles in practice armor, leaving her exhausted and very sore afterwards. The worst part was performing this punishment when her free period arrived. She had barely made it back to the barracks and washed up before the lamps were extinguished, causing her to miss the evening meal.
The explanation made more sense. No recruit left the training platoon until blooded by his or her first battle. When Wolf Company went on patrol, the recruits accompanied them, at the rear, and were expected to engage when the flanking outriders spotted Illians sneaking across the border. Elsa understood the kingdom of Jordache was small compared to many others, and the guard force, therefore, needed to be elite. Though at times the guard had suffered heavy casualties, they had never been defeated in hundreds of years. It was both a source of pride within the populace and a burden to bear, due to the constant training necessary to stay on top.
Six years later, after several dozen skirmishes against the forces of Illian and Belgresse, Elsa was promoted to Wolf Company Captain. The old captain had retired after a particularly vicious battle with over fifty percent losses. The king had awarded Elsa the company after Gusa announced his retirement. Though there was the usual grumbling, everyone knew she was most qualified to succeed him.
Once the company was her own, she kept the men and women in a modified training status. They performed their patrols; however, they also constantly trained. She not only wanted to be the most deadly company within the Jordache guard, but she also wanted to one day take out Korath's own elite guard during the games. A festival held twice a year with allies broke up the monotony of daily duties and improved the relationships between those countries. Invariably, the Korathians took the lead prizes when their respective guard companies competed against each other. Held in a different country of the Alliance each year, it was the country of Jordache that would host this year's events. having held them in Belgresse last year, even though most countries seemed to be at war with Belgresse every other year. Elsa was looking forward to this year's games held in Jordache. She knew her family would attend, and it would be great to see them again.
Each night, Elsa prayed to Goddess Hera, the Queen of the gods. She knew most of her company, and most soldiers in general, prayed to Ares, but not Elsa. She was a woman, and she would pray to a woman. She thanked the goddess for her health and prayed for the health and safety of her family. She also prayed for the continued improvement of her company, that they would suffer few casualties on their next patrol. Finally, she asked the goddess to send some excitement in her otherwise boring life. Being a captain of the guard was monotonous, although now she slept and bathed in private. Unlike most of the other men and women in her unit, and all of the other guard captains she knew of, her life was dull, duties and training intermixed with studying. She seemed to be the only one around without a private life.
One night, during her prayer, an unbidden response came to Elsa. [There is one, a man, who will be arriving soon that you should pay attention to.] Elsa almost fainted. The goddess had actually spoken to her. The voice in her mind was warm, friendly, and bespoke patience and stateliness while being obviously female. Oh, she had heard the goddess talking to her priestess and occasionally some of the acolytes, but it was unheard of for Hera to speak to a commoner.
[You are much more important than you think, dear Elsa, and in time, I will reveal more. Suffice to say, you will know the one I speak of when you meet him. It will be an interesting meeting and one that is vitally important for this world.]
"But how will I know him?”
[You will know. I would tell you more, but I prefer you to be surprised by the encounter I have foreseen in the ripples of the stream of time.]
Elsa spent the next thirty minutes trying to get a response from the goddess to no avail. Obviously, the conversation was over, and she counted herself blessed to have heard that voice. It gave her a warm and satisfied feeling inside as she fell asleep.
"Wolf Company. Prepare to ride!" She shouted the next morning as she strode into the courtyard and gathered her troops around her.
There was a bustle of activity, and then her men and women lined up in rows before her. Two hundred strong, she had molded them into an elite group that possibly surpassed the King’s Own. The dawn's light had broken moments before, and it was time to go on a patrol that would last almost a month. The kitchen staff had already prepared their meals, packaged neatly and placed in large saddlebags which hung from her horse's loins and rump. The bags were attached to the back of the saddle itself to keep them from slipping off during a run or canter. She knew without looking that the bags would contain fifty-six individually wrapped packages, each containing trail bread, dried meat, and cheese wrapped in kava leaves. Though the patrol would only take twenty-six to twenty-seven days, an extra day's ration was standard in case they ran into difficulty. Kava leaves were broad and very tough. When rubbe
d with beeswax and wrapped around food, they created an almost airtight and watertight package. They were capable of keeping rations safe from spoilage for months. Scraped, dried, and cut into uniform sheets, the leaves even created a cheap paper.
A smaller bag attached to the top of the others would contain a waterproof skin as ground protection during inclement weather, a tinderbox with striking stone, bandages, and other assorted items needed on the trail. Two large water skins hung from her saddle horn one to each side, and her bedroll rested on top of the bags. Allowed ale or wine in the city, there were no alcoholic beverages while on patrol when their senses needed to remain sharp. Personally, Elsa thought it a wise precaution.
"Where to this time, Captain?" asked Ricon as he rode up next to Elsa's horse.
"Tiber pass, plus forty miles north, until we reach Fort Brandor, then back again. They're patrolling the northern passes in strength, so we need to cover their southern route for them."
"So, basically, two extra days of patrol, but why is Fort Brandor patrolling the northern passes in strength?"
"Unsure, other than the sound of war drums during the night and some odd sightings and disappearances of locals. Might mean war.If so, those of Brandor will squash it."
"Aye, Captain, that they will." Ricon then turned his horse around, shouting to the assembling soldiers to hurry up. Extolling them in his kindest tones meant he was displeased, though it was hard to tell. Ricon's style involved calling them every name in the book while simultaneously questioning their parentage. Elsa grinned as she leaned back to check all her saddlebags, although Ricon had packed them, and she knew he would rather lose an arm than disappoint her. Doing so was more of an excuse to think and not have anyone bother her,and as she suspected, everything was where it should be.
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