Sure enough, a tavern called “The Ringing Hammer” awaited on a side street, several rows west of the town’s central square. Almost all the other buildings along the row looked dark and deserted, though thick, beeswax candles in the windows advertised the tavern as open for business. The wet pine steps creaked under his weight, and he was spared the awkwardness of opening the heavy door when a patron made his exit just as Jaiden reached the porch.
“Good evening,” Jaiden attempted as the unshaven man shouldered by. He and his ambulatory implement received silent judgment from the man’s bleary eyes, but no words were given.
“I guess this isn’t that kind of place,” Jaiden muttered as he shuffled through the door. The kind of place it did appear to be was a working-man’s watering hole. No fancy adornments on the walls and no polished candelabras, for sure. A stuffed elk’s head hung over the bar, around which huddled rough-looking souls.
The patrons bore signs of tiring labor: dirt on the cheeks or salt streaks along the shirt from a day’s worth of dried sweat. Jaiden guessed from the earthy smell that many of the regulars were miners. Nearly every table away from the bar sat empty, and not a single soft curve of woman brightened the dreary room.
With no serving wench apparent, Jaiden headed straight for the bar. He had no desire to engage the locals, but the only empty stools were already flanked by patrons. He kept his eyes down to avoid contact as he limped noisily across the sawdusted floor.
He kept his coin purse hidden underneath the top fold of his right boot, tied with a string, while on the move – he’d done so since his father first taught him the value of money. While thankful the Chelpians hadn’t discovered it, the fact he’d never received payment for his service at Halidor Keep stung. Bemoaning its lightness, Jaiden tucked the purse into his belt and took a seat on the nearest stool, accidently bumping his crutch into the man on his right.
“Hey, watch it, would ya?” A man with salt-and-pepper stubble cradled his drink, which had lost a little off the top, defending against another possible assault.
“I, I’m sorry. Not really used to this thing, yet.”
“Recently injured, huh?” The man to Jaiden’s left imposed a bit further than necessary to get a clearer look at Jaiden’s leg. “What’s wrong with it?”
When he turned to face the inquisitor, Jaiden nearly kissed the man, his face was so close. Jaiden’s wool leggings didn’t divulge any obvious sign of his maligned condition, so it appeared an honest-enough question. The man was middle-aged, but had an older face, worn from years of toiling in the elements. He reeked of his labor, and Jaiden guessed he hadn’t seen a washtub for at least a week. Still, the odor of his liquored breath was the stronger at this proximity.
Jaiden inched his face backward until his neck was straining and raised his eyebrows, unconvinced of the need for such intimacy. “I’m a soldier. I was injured at Halidor, less than a fortnight ago.”
“You don’t say?” The man returned to vertical and reached into his pocket for a coin. “A flagon of ‘eel’s breath’ for the soldier!” he called out to the bartender, slapping his silver onto the bar.
“Eel’s breath?”
“Yeah, haha, wonderful stuff. It’ll get you where you want to go.” The man took a swig of his own brew, then looked Jaiden over again after lowering his cup. “Name’s Mosely. There’s been talk around here of some fighting down south. This ‘sorcerer-king’ fella from Chelpa stirring up trouble. So, soldier, what are you doing up in Greyhorne? Not a deserter, are you?”
“What? No, of course not. I’m here with the Order of the Rising Moon. And it’s the ‘King-priest of Chelpa.’ Thank you for the drink.” Jaiden exhaled deeply then tilted his flagon, hoping the beverage would go down easier than its name suggested. It didn’t, and Jaiden almost spit it back up.
“Whoa-ho, easy there, soldier! You’ve got to sort of, work your way into it. Slow sips at first, ‘til you get your sea legs.” The miner demonstrated with another practiced gulp. “Well, I just wanted you to know I appreciate all you fighting lads keeping us safe.”
Jaiden was at a loss. He couldn’t remember ever receiving blind appreciation, and didn’t have it in him to tell his admirer they’d been slaughtered at Halidor. “And thanks to you too, Mosley, for… everything you do.”
“Haha, you’re all right, son,” Mosely laughed, swatting Jaiden a little too roughly on the back.
Jaiden downed the remainder of his drink despite the burn, wishing he could be left alone like everyone else in the bar. He knew he probably should have offered to buy his new friend a round, but wasn’t sure when more coppers would be coming his way.
“Well, thanks again. I need to mosely on back to camp now. My captain will be expecting me.”
“Haha, Mosely on back! I see what you did there.” He turned to the man seated to his left, looking to share his enjoyment of the pun. “My name’s Mosely. Did you see what he did?” Mosely’s neighbor did not appear amused in the slightest.
Jaiden forced a grin as he rose and positioned his crutch under his right arm. More quickly than when entering, Jaiden limped across the creaky floor and out the door of “The Ringing Hammer.” He stumbled while maneuvering down the steps, prompting his left hand to pat where he’d stored his purse.
It was absent, no longer tucked in his belt. He hadn’t heard the cling of coins hitting the ground, but searched the dark with his left foot anyway. Criesha was just a sliver tonight, her green light not much to see by. The blue tint of the trailing Hurn was even dimmer.
After a few rounds of frantic pawing with his boot, Jaiden gave up and cursed his luck. He had just started making his way back toward the wagons when he froze. He remembered Mosely slapping him on the back and it suddenly came together. That filthy drunkard had stolen his coin purse!
Jaiden stalked back up the stairs, ignoring the pain it caused. He burst into the bar, his eyes immediately locking on the stool Mosely had occupied: empty. The stool to the right of where Jaiden had been sitting was empty, too, though both of the men’s drinking vessels remained on the bar.
“Barkeep!” Jaiden hobbled over to the melancholy chap who had served his beverage. “Where did these two go?”
The bartender shrugged as he wiped a tankard with a well-used rag, keeping the same, sour look on his face. “I dunno, maybe they left out the back?”
Jaiden bit his lip to resist saying more, but moved with heavy strokes of his crutch toward the rear of the dive. A short hallway split across his path. To the right, a set of steep stairs climbed to the top floor, while the left led to a latrine and another exit. The stairway was too daunting at the moment, and he didn’t figure a thief to hide in the building with an easy retreat available.
He trudged into the foul-smelling alcove and out the door into fresh mountain air. He scanned the alley for movement. The dark was prohibitive, but he listened, steadying his breath in hopes of catching the sound of fleeing footfalls. Nothing.
“Of all the welcomes.” Jaiden shook his head, resigning himself to his loss. In truth it wasn’t much, but the idea of being robbed incensed him. It left him with no choice but to commit to the Order. With his injury, he knew it would be months before he could get hired on to another military unit. Sir Golddrake’s outfit could at least be counted on to feed him in the meantime.
Feeling all too sober, he made his way back toward the wagons, both his leg and his pride hurting a little more than when he arrived. By the time Jaiden meandered into camp, most of the set-up work was complete. He marveled at how efficiently the Order of the Rising Moon operated. Everyone had an appointed task that benefitted the whole, and performed their service without complaint. Or, almost everyone.
Most of the camp was either bedding down or on watch. Greyhorne didn’t have an obvious problem with the presence of the Rising Moon’s company, allowing them to set up camp on the outskirts of town. Jaiden presumed some prior arrangement, since no one seemed to question his new comrades dropping by for a
n extended visit.
Jaiden didn’t wish to draw attention, and was worn out after his ordeal at the tavern. He didn’t relish going from tent to tent looking for a vacancy, announcing the fact he’d skipped out on erecting shelter in the first place. Instead, he followed another lesson he’d learned from his father: when in doubt, bed with the horses.
Sneaking to where the animals were tied, most of which were either nodding off or grazing absentmindedly on the sparse grass, he dropped onto a soft pile of dried hay, set out for the morning feeding. Covering up with a layer thick enough to keep warm overnight, it wasn’t long before Jaiden began lightly snoring, dreaming of pickpockets and uncompleted chores.
Jaiden awoke to an itchy nose, and was surprised to find a stray cat curled in the hay next to his face. He pushed it away and battled with a sneeze, before it finally won out. His surroundings were a harsh reminder of how the previous night had ended, and he figured he’d better hurry to breakfast, if this was anything like the last camp. No point starting out a new day broke and hungry.
Luckily, once he got enough distance from the horses, all he had to do was follow his nose to the breakfast table. The aroma of freshly-cooked sausages was a pleasant distraction from the fatigue lingering after his harried sleep. Adding some bread and butter, Jaiden felt capable of taking on the morning. He hoped to find Captain Millstone without appearing like a hapless initiate.
Across the stone-riddled field, Jaiden spotted a familiar boy lugging a bucket of water toward the wash basins. An idea struck him, and he grabbed another piece of buttered bread before limping after the lad.
“Tikvi!” he called, trying to catch the boy’s attention before losing him. The lad turned at the sound of his name, and Jaiden was pleased he’d remembered. “I’ve got something for you.” Jaiden ceased walking and simply held out the bread.
Tikvi looked both ways, making sure no one else was paying close attention, before setting down his bucket and claiming his early snack. He broke into a wide grin before chomping voraciously on the offering.
“Whoa there, slow down.” Jaiden watched as the entire piece of bread disappeared in three bites. Tikvi seemed completely satisfied with his mouthful, though, so Jaiden shrugged and made his request. “I need you to tell me where Captain Millstone’s tent is. He’s in charge of the infantry.”
“Mmmhmm,” Tikvi nodded, his mouth still stuffed. He pointed a buttery finger at a gray canvas pavilion flying a purple pennant. A dark-haired man with a thick moustache stood out front, holding a spear. He gave active instruction to two youthful soldiers on how to wield the simple weapon.
“Thanks, Tikvi.” Jaiden tousled the boy’s hair, never removing his eyes from the Captain. He cut toward the pavilion, straightening his posture as much as possible while leaning on his crutch.
“Captain Millstone?”
“Yes? Who do we have here?”
“My name is Jaiden Luminere, sir. Lieutenant Orestes told me to find you once we arrived. Said I’d be joining the infantry under you.”
“Is that so?” The captain looked Jaiden up and down, assessing his new recruit. “What’s the story on your injury, Jaiden?”
“A hydra, sir. Bit me in the leg while I was defending Halidor Keep.” Jaiden hoped to make it sound like no big concern.
“Fiends of the Fire Wall, is that so? Well, you’ve got guts – not a lot of brains, though, huh? We’re used to that in the infantry, so you’ll fit right in. Go inside,” he pointed with his thumb to the tent behind him, “and grab yourself a tabard and a change of clothes out of the open chest. There are extra packs beside it, so get one of those to store your gear, too.”
Jaiden nodded and turned to follow orders.
“Have you been sworn in yet?” Captain Millstone added.
Jaiden froze. He knew this was going too easily. “No, sir.”
“Well, Sir Golddrake will take care of that when he returns. For now, hustle up and join me in Doring Meadow as soon as possible – sparring practice in a quarter-hour. We’re bound to see action soon, and I don’t want to find any of my men on the end of a pike because they were rusty.”
“Yes, sir.” Jaiden wasn’t sure how that would go with his mangled leg, but after the long wagon ride he was thankful for the distraction and a chance to get some exercise. The supplies weren’t difficult to find, and once the rest was tucked into his new pack, he donned the white tabard of the order. His fingers traced over the violet, crescent moon emblazoned on his chest, and his thoughts wandered to the full, quarter-moon lips he’d kissed during the best of his dreams.
Jaiden’s life had been so strange the last fortnight, and he had no reasonable explanation why. What was he sure of? He knew his leg was ruined, but had he really done battle with a many-headed monster? He could feel his heart aching in his chest after heavy exertion, but had he really been scorched by the leader of their enemy? Were his dreams of Criesha just a fantasy, created by his mind to cope with the loss, or were the stories of the old gods true and one of them had actually decided to make him her champion?
He admitted it sounded crazy, yet here he was in the military camp of a religious order dedicated to the same goddess. Sir Golddrake believed he was special, too. Perhaps, that was enough. As long as he wasn’t alone following some ridiculous road to nowhere, maybe he could stay the course and figure out the truth along the way. It wouldn’t be easy on his own when he could do little for himself.
A horn sounded in the distance and Jaiden snapped back to the here-and-now: sparring practice. Captain Millstone would be waiting for him to show up, and he didn’t want to make a poor impression on his new commander. He slung his pack over his shoulders and exited the tent. The heavy cracking of wood already echoed from the mock combat, guiding and enticing Jaiden. He knew how to wield a sword, and put on a show doing it.
When he reached Doring Meadow, the ongoing fight had devolved into a wrestling match, the circle of spectators closing in further as the participants took to the ground. Screams and cheers were offered, and it was clear what began as a simple sparring lesson was suddenly personal. Captain Millstone and another soldier waded through the ring of boisterous humanity to break up the rowdies.
“Enough of this! Order! Order in the goddess’s name!” the captain called as he finally wrangled the fighter on top by his shoulders. The man on bottom had a bloody nose, while grass and dirt clung to both their tabards. The crowd quieted once the brawlers were separated. “This is not what we’re here for. You act like that on the battlefield and you’re good as dead.” Both men lowered their heads as Captain Millstone berated them. “More than that, the man next to you is probably dead too, because you exposed his flank. Get back, the two of you!”
The captain stood in the center of the circle, fuming, as the crowd spread wider, wary of his ire. “Now, somebody show me they know how to treat their weapon with respect. Who’s next?” The once-noisy congregation of soldiers evaporated into a collection of men, silent as the Monks of Narvelle.
“I’ll give it a whirl,” called Jaiden, calmly standing outside the round. Everyone turned his way, and the crowd parted to allow him entry.
“Ah, the new recruit.” Captain Millstone paused, but didn’t say anything about his leg. “So be it. Get on in here.” He picked one of the wooden sparring swords up from the ground and handed it to Jaiden. “And who wants to challenge this brave champion?”
“I’ll have some of that.”
Jaiden recognized the voice. When the speaker came forward, he saw one of the men he shared a tent with at the last camp – one who had previously taunted him. He wore a smirk on his face and approached slack-shouldered and loose, as if expecting an easy victory.
The crowd spread outward, allowing about ten paces between sides. Though mostly flat and worn down, the meadow had uneven patches where the grass grew thick, and Jaiden knew he would have to be careful of his footing.
With lack of mobility his greatest weakness, Jaiden decided to start in the
griffon’s stance, and let the enemy come to him. He held the sword aloft, gripping with both hands, pommel even with his head. His opponent’s smirk curled into a menacing smile, and his cold eyes betrayed thoughts of delivering his first strike at Jaiden’s injured thigh.
“Begin!” the captain announced.
“I’m going to give you the beating you’ve been asking for, cripple.” Seeing Jaiden’s sword held high, the man faked a lunge to his right, and then charged from the left, sweeping his wooden blade inward toward the knee of Jaiden’s compromised leg.
Jaiden was ready, swiveling his hips and swiftly bringing his own sword screaming downward, parrying the blow with a resonating thwack. The man’s charge left him off-balance as he passed, and Jaiden used the momentum of his downswing to circle his weapon around and thump his opponent on the backside.
The onlookers erupted with laughter, and the soldier’s face reddened at the indignity, once he stopped his forward stagger. Nearly snorting steam, he turned and took a two-handed grip on his blunted battle-implement. A rapid assault of blows ensued, coming from one side, then the next, three, four, five. Jaiden blocked them all, swirling his sword with practiced turns of his wrist, his body barely moving, save for short steps back with every parry. The fluid movement of his weapon spoke for him, while his opponent called out “Heeya!” with every new effort.
Lulling his attacker with continuous defensive strokes, Jaiden waited until he was sure the man had no thoughts toward protecting himself. He gave ground purposefully to continue the illusion he wasn’t a threat, then, as the braggart was looping his sword arm from right to left, Jaiden pivoted to show him his profile. The switch in position was enough to make the man miss without deflecting the strike. Instead, Jaiden followed the movement of his opponent’s blade with his own, filling the natural opening that appeared as he crossed his body and smacking him on the pate.
The resulting crack seemed to startle everyone present, as Jaiden also lulled them into assuming he was on the retreat, though his skill at manipulating his weapon was clearly beyond his foe’s. His challenger winced at the blow and his knees buckled as legs gave way.
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