by Philip Blood
G’Taklar glanced at her clothing and said, “From the uniform you’re wearing I think I know how you got in here, but what’s your plan for getting out of the compound? They don’t let recruits outside the walls.”
“I didn’t come in this way, I pretended to be an old drudge and came in with the poor wretches they hire to clean up. To get out I’m going to pretend to be a corporal, and take you out with me,” she replied in a breathy whisper.
The young girl’s warm breath on young G’Taklar’s ear was starting to affect him, his pulse quickened and he gulped, words were having difficulty getting together in his mouth.
Jatar spoke during G’Taklar’s tongue tied pause, “I have a suggestion, why don’t you put on the corporal’s uniform; it’ll fit you better. She can put on her drudge clothes and go back out with them. I doubt she could pass as a Tchulian soldier, uniform and dark notwithstanding.”
“I have a suggestion,” G’Taklar whispered to Rachael, repeating what Jatar had recommended.
“You’re so smart, Guitar, I didn’t think of that, and I was worried about the uniform being too big,” she replied.
“Well, ahem, thanks,” he said, embarrassed at the praise she gave him for Jatar’s advice. "Where did you leave your drudge outfit?”
Rachael got up and led him to the lavatory.
G’Taklar followed her as quietly as he could. When they reached the water closet Rachael began to take off the uniform.
She pulled the hat off and tossed it to G’Taklar, and then she began to unbutton the shirt. She quickly pulled it off and then threw it to him as well. She reached to untie the cloth that bound her bosom but noticed G’Taklar who was completely engrossed in watching her disrobe.
“Turn your back,” she instructed, “this isn’t a show.”
G’Taklar’s face flushed and he turned his back quickly. “I wasn’t looking; I was just waiting for the clothes.”
“I’m sure,” Rachael replied, in a tone that showed she did not believe a word of what he had said. “Why don’t you start putting that shirt on?”
“Oh, yes,” G’Taklar said, coming back to the present. He had been trying to understand her past behavior in her room compared to the present, She makes no sense at all, he concluded.
A moment later the pants hit him in the back of the head, when he turned to pick them up he caught the white outline of the naked Rachael who had her back to him while she picked up the rags from the floor. He tried not to look, but his eyes traveled down the outline of the small curvy girl. Her long wavy hair entangled his eyes which followed the cascading curls to the small of her back and inevitably toward her perfectly rounded… G’Taklar yanked his head around, practically tearing his eyes as they tried to stay on the beautiful sight of his first naked woman.
Flustered, and red as the evening sunset, G’Taklar took off his pants and began to change into the corporal’s.
He was busy, so he didn’t see Rachael sneak a peek at the back of his naked body. She sighed and went back to putting on her rags.
A man walked out of the desert and into the common room at the Butchered Lamb. He had piercing gray eyes, shoulder length black hair and wore a long dusty gray cloak.
He walked directly to the bar and though it was crowded he caught Fats’ eye and in a low voice said, “Ale.”
Fats was busy, and started to ignore the stranger, but something in the depths of the man’s gray eyes made him pause. He made his regular customers wait and filled a large brown mug with ale for the stranger.
As Fats set the drink down the man took hold of his wrist in a steel grip.
Fats pulled back trying to free his hand. Normally his bulk won most battles, but this time, the man’s hand just tightened and Fats was held in place.
The man spoke quietly, and his voice showed no hint of effort in holding Fats. “I’m thinking of joining the local garrison, are there any officers around with whom I could speak?”
“Sergeant Herms is upstairs, he’ll be down soon if you wait,” Fats found he was scared of this man; there was something different in the gray eyes of the stranger.
Fats was used to dealing with tough men, but this stranger was a cut above, his soul shone from his eyes, fearless, confident, and ready for anything.
The stranger turned Fats’ hand over. The innkeeper watched in fear of what he might do. The gray-cloaked stranger brought his other hand from under his cloak and placed two coppers in the innkeeper’s open palm. “For the ale,” he said, and released Fats’ hand.
Fats almost collapsed behind the counter in relief.
The cloaked man took his mug of ale and sat at a booth against the back wall, waiting.
After a quarter bell Sergeant Herms lumbered down the stairs and joined his two corporals, they were waiting for him at a booth.
Fats immediately hurried over to the Tchulians and said, “There’s a man here who says he wants to join the military. He’s been waiting for you.”
“He wants te join, you say? Well can you beat that!” the Sergeant said and his two corporals laughed.
“He’s not the normal scum that wanders in here, Sergeant, this is a tough one,” Fats warned.
“Oh, tough, is he? Let’s see the tough old bird,” and he stood up on his thick legs, gesturing for his two men to come along. He felt better when he had armed men to support his authority.
“Which is the bloke?”
“He’s the one in the gray cloak, over there,” Fats said, gesturing with his shoulder, he was afraid of pointing directly at the stranger.
The Sergeant hitched up his sagging pants and swaggered over to the booth where the stranger sat. His two corporals flanked him on either side.
“I hear you want te join up, in which case I’m the man te see,” Sergeant Herms said, pointing at his chest with his right thumb.
The cloaked man’s steely eyes slowly tracked up the girth of the Sergeant, then flicked to either side, taking in the two accompanying corporals, before returning to look into Herm’s face.
The Sergeant sucked in some of his gut as he was measured and found wanting by the cloaked man.
“Yes,” the stranger said conversationally, “I’m interested in joining the Tchulian army, but not as an infantry foot soldier, I'm thinking of becoming an officer.”
“An officer?” Herms smiled and looked at the corporal on his left, nudging him with his elbow, “He wants te be an ‘Officer’” he said, chuckling. “What makes you think you can afford Tchulian officer’s schooling, Kesera.” the Sergeant finished, calling him a small desert rodent.
In reply, the stranger said, “Why should I prove anything to you, have you even been to the Keep?” He nodded his head in the direction of the fortress on top of the nearby hill.
“Of course I have. I know the right people to talk to, if you had the round, which you don’t,” he responded, puffing his chest out even further.
“You’re right, I don’t have the round,” the stranger began.
“You see boys, a Kesera, like I said,” the Sergeant interjected.
“But I have this,” the stranger continued, spinning a red stone out onto the tabletop. It spun so fast at first that the sergeant could only see it was red, and then it slowed and stopped showing its faceted sides. It was a ruby, half the size of a small flutter’s egg.
The sergeant and both corporals’ eyes bulged at the sight of the stone. It was worth more than their combined pay for three years.
The sergeant recovered first and elbowed his men back into reality. “So, that’s all? Hardly enough to get you in the door, I hope you have more,” and the corporals behind the sergeant looked at him as if he were crazy.
“You and I both know this is more than enough to get me in, but yes, I do have more.”
The corporals transferred their incredulous looks from their sergeant to the stranger.
Sergeant Herms sat down at the booth opposite the gray-eyed man. The two corporals boxed the stranger in, one sitting next t
o the sergeant and the other next to the gray-cloaked man.
He didn’t look perturbed.
The sergeant snapped his fingers above his head and one of the waitresses came over immediately. Herms kept looking at the stranger, but spoke to the waitress, “Bring ale.”
When the waitress was off fetching the drinks the sergeant addressed the stranger. “So you fancy yerself a tough un? Well, I don’t think ye’re tough enough for the Tchulians. Think you can prove me wrong?”
“I’m still here,” the stranger replied.
The mugs of ale arrived and the stranger picked one up and drained it to the last drop in one pull, slamming it to the top of the table and looking at the sergeant expectantly.
Herms picked his up and emptied it as well. “Six more, he barked at the waitress who was still standing at the end of the table. While she was gone Herms picked up the other two mugs that had been for his corporals and set one in front of the stranger, “To the Tchulian army!” he toasted and drank the remaining mug of ale in one pull.
The stranger picked up his new mug, never taking his eyes off the Sergeant. “To the keseras,” he answered and downed his as well.
“Didn’t like my toast hey?” the sergeant said.
“I’m not a Tchulian, yet,” the man responded.
The waitress came back with the additional mugs of ale.
“Then let’s find something we can toast together!” He picked up another mug, “To women, long may they satisfy!” After his toast he waited for the stranger, mug raised.
The cloaked man raised a full mug as well and added, “To women,” and then he downed the entire mug of dark potent ale.
The sergeant followed suit, gulping heavily. Then he picked up another mug of the oily, alcoholic beverage.
“I’ll continue to drink with you in a moment, but first, I’m going to have to shake my Kesera,” the stranger explained.
“Fine, fine, I’m sure the corporal here has to go too, don’t you?” the sergeant suggested heavily to the corporal seated on his side.
“Uh yes, I do have to go,” the corporal said, after catching the sergeant’s elbow in his side.
The stranger and the corporal got up and went out the front together. As they walked away the stranger bumped into a table slightly, losing his balance. The sergeant smiled when he saw it happen.
“What are you doing, Sarge?” the remaining corporal said as soon as the stranger was out of hearing.
“I’m drinking the bastard onto the floor, and then we’ll relieve him o’ that bauble and anything else he has on him. Then we’ll enroll him in the ranks o’ new recruits. Don’t worry, you’ll get yer cut, ten percent,” the sergeant promised.
“What happens if he isn’t getting drunker than you?” the corporal asked.
“What, that wimp out sauce me, he’s too skinny. Besides, you two can handle him once I get him drunk enough. Then he can wake from his blissful slumber in his dream come true, a recruit ‘o the Tchulian army,” the sergeant finished, chuckling.
Outside the stranger and the corporal found some bushes to the side of the building, the stranger went behind them, but the corporal wasn’t worried, there was no other exit from the corner of the building, so the man had to come past him on the way back out.
He could hear the man going and after a moment, the gray cloaked stranger returned. Together they went back into the Tavern.
“All right sergeant, where were we?” the gray-eyed man said when he was seated again.
“We was just toast’in the women, now we are toast’in the maker ‘o this ale, may he learn te do better soon!” the sergeant said with a grin, they drank the mugs down together.
When the sergeant set his mug down the room swayed just a little, he knew the ale was starting to have an effect. He looked at the smaller man across from him and thought, By now he must be getting seriously skewered.
When they picked up the last of the eight mugs of ale the sergeant noted that the stranger had a little trouble finding the handle on his mug.
“To round mmmmmmetal, may oooou alwaysh find sumb,” the stranger said, his words slurring in the unwritten drunk’s language.
They drank the large mugs of thick liquid together, then the stranger bent at the waist and collapsed on the table while saying, “Wheresh alllll the weeeemon?” His head landed with a ‘thunk’ on the rough wood table.
The sergeant, not feeling all that steady himself, prodded the stranger with his finger. “Out, like an old whore. Well, pick him up, you fools, it’s time for our newest recruit to go to his new home.”
The sergeant and corporals got to their feet. The sergeant swayed back and forth a little but managed to steady himself on the side of the table until the world settled down. The two corporals supported the semi-unconscious stranger by putting one of his arms over each of their shoulders and walking him out the door.
When they reached the street they walked him toward the edge of town. As they neared the last building on the main street of Headwater a man stepped out in front of them. He wore finely made light armor and sported a polished, but lethal looking sword in his hand.
“Excuse me,” he said in a cultured accent, “will you explain where you’re going with my friend?”
“Yer friend?” the sergeant asked.
“Yes and your explanation better be good,” he cautioned.
“I’m not sure what ye’re talk’in about,” the sergeant replied as he gestured with his hand for the corporals to come closer.
They dropped their unconscious burden on the ground and stepped up beside their sergeant while drawing their swords.
Sergeant Herms felt better once his armed men were ready to defend him and he said, “You see he volunteered te join the Tchulian infantry. He is now a recruit and recruits are not allowed te wander the town, so move aside, or are you think’in of volunteer’in as well?” the sergeant asked.
“Since when did I volunteer?” said a voice out of the dark, and the gray-eyed stranger from the tavern stepped from behind the building, holding two drawn swords. They three soldiers stared as if a ghost had joined the party before turning to look where they’d just left the same man lying in the dirt only a moment ago.
When they turned they saw that man standing behind them just as he caught the sword his identical twin brother tossed to him over the soldier’s heads.
“There are two of them!” a corporal yelled.
“Get them!” the drunken sergeant commanded.
Each corporal took on a twin, and the sergeant pulled out his sword to attack Becaris.
Becaris did not use his blade; he just let the sergeant blunder in and then hit him over the head with his hilt. The drunken sergeant dropped to the ground like a stone, unconscious.
When Becaris looked up to see how Lasar and Rasal were doing he saw that both Tchulian corporals were dead. The brothers stood over them and were not even breathing hard.
“Quickly, before anyone sees, arrange them so that it looks like they killed each other, and then help me carry this hulking sergeant to the horses. Is the ale affecting either of you two?” Becaris asked.
“You must be joking, a few mugs of ale each? We were born and raised in a tavern, either of us could have drunk him under the table, but with two of us it was simple,” Lasar answered with a smirk.
Sergeant Herms awoke the next morning tied to a gnarled old tree trunk out in the desert. For the life of him, he could not remember how he got in this predicament. The last thing he remembered was drinking with the stranger at the Butchered Lamb.
He heard the crunch of sand on boots as someone approached from behind. His first thought was that his corporals had betrayed him for the ruby, it was feasible; he would have killed them for it without regret.
Herms called out, “All right, I get the picture, I’ll give you each one-third o’ the sell’in price, now let me loose.”
“I’m afraid we’re not interested in round, Sergeant Herms,” a voice with a noble
’s accent said from behind.
Becaris stepped around in front of his captive.
“Who are you?” the frightened Tchulian gasped.
“That’s of no consequence to you. What you should be concerned with is helping me out, that way both of us will get what we want. I need information about the Tchulian keep above Headwater and you need to survive; it’s funny how the two are tied together. It seems we can be mutually beneficial to one another,” Becaris said, taking a drink from a waterskin.
The hot sun was already heating up the sand of the desert, and the sergeant’s mouth was dry. Watching Becaris drink focused the sergeant’s thoughts on the dryness of his mouth. He licked his lips and tried to get some moisture working.
“What do you want te know?” he asked, not thinking of resisting for a moment.
“Tell me the layout; I need to find a prisoner named G’Taklar who’s locked up, possibly being tortured. I’ll also need to know how many soldiers there are, the names of the officers, passwords, entry routines, you know, everything,” Becaris finished, cleaning the dirt from under his nails with a sharp dagger.
The sergeant began telling him everything he wanted to know about the keep, but he never mentioned G’Taklar since he knew him only as the new recruit named Guitar.
G’Taklar found the stable where Rachael had told him they would meet. His escape from the compound had been easy, just a wave of his hand at the bored guard, the corporal’s hat was as far as the tired guard’s eyes had bothered to look and the dark shadows of night had kept his face from being seen.
He opened the large swinging door of the wooden barn and stepped inside. Beams of light from the morning sun sliced through the misaligned vertical boards of the walls to cut knife edged slices of golden sunlight across the straw covered floor.
Stalls holding horses lined the walls to the left and right with saddles and other trappings hanging on wood pegs. G’Taklar looked up toward the loft in time to see Rachael’s head pop up out of the straw.
The young girl lowered a wrapped up bundle down to him and then descended the wooden ladder.