The Sixteenth - Chapter Three

[Zonorhc]

PROLOGUE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the year 895, a peace of five hundred years was broken.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The arrogance of one man brought needless suffering and destruction to countless lives, all in the name of glory and misguided ambitions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The war was bitter, and laid waste to vast tracts of land for three years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Men were called for. Men went forth from their homes with the blessings of their mothers, fathers, siblings, children. Men went to battle alongside their closest friends. Some men returned home with the blessings of the battlefield: disease, wounds of the body and wounds of the mind - wounds that would never heal. Many men did not return at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Through the entire carnage was a continual buzz of learning in the great cities far from the conflict. Development of weapons and strategies to win the war. Men learned to use masses of their fellow man as pieces in a game.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Out of the haze of war came a cadre of battle-hardened men. Comrades in arms who would walk through all the abysses and back together. The smallest of these powerful pieces would be the dagger slipped into the armour of the knight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sixteenth Company.

[Zonorhc]

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The autumn rains came early. The eight hundred and ninety-fourth year of the Kingdom of Rallim was coming to a close after plentiful harvests and absolutely bugger all to be interested about. In other words, it was a typical year. Birds still sang, and all that hat. A set of wooden windchimes clunked in deference to the wind. A young man with blond hair blown to the side by wind coming through a crack in the timber wall clanks about in his father's toolshed, replacing spades, hammers and other tools which had no logical reason to have been used that day but were anyway. Such is life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The boy, for ease of remembrance, was named Richard by his father, whose name was also Richard. The net result was that it gave him the name Richard Richardson, which was by far the silliest name in the village of Die Torquin, far surpassing the name of the village itself. Sixteen years of age and bored out of his mind for the past five, he nevertheless did his chores and remained quiet and apparently content, in the hope that one day he would just be a part of the background and could then get away from the blasted place before his parents could stop him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was a dreamer. He imagined the exploits of heroes in faraway lands, and conjured fantastic beasts of all sorts from the depths of his mind, which quivered with ideas like a clothesline in a hurricane. He used to have a habit of writing things down as he thought about them, but his parents had been against the 'book-learnin'' that the bards who visited the tavern taught him over the years. The last straw was when he wrote a treatise on electroarcanics and designed a contraption which shot great arcs of lightning at things using the power of a little orb borrowed from the local magician. Ridiculously weak, the wizard had described that orb. Bloody well grounded for a month, Richard's parents described him. He hadn't been allowed to touch a book or write anything for two years now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the rain outside, helping his father with the horse was his best friend, Kalsis. Kalsis was an Amardian like his parents, who had moved to Rallim and arrived in Die Torquin years ago, driving a wagon carrying building and farming tools and miscellaneous icons of Amardian deities, of which they worshiped three hundred and fifty-seven. They were very religious. Divine favour practically covered their home in a maelstrom of godly wrath against heathens. A drunk had once blasphemed twenty feet down the old dirt road from Kalsis' house, and came back to the tavern smelling strongly of ozone and sporting large burns and holes in his clothing. Kalsis was typically Amardian - tanned skin, dark hair and eyes, and unquestioningly ready to invoke the gods.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His work done in the shed, Richard stepped out into the light drizzle in time to see his father and Kalsis stepping out of the stables, bruised and covered in mud. Their horse, Aladaranar, had a terrible temper that Richard suspected had something to do with the absurd number of recurrences of the letter A in his name.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Hullo, dad, Kalsis,' called Richard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Hullo, son.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

''ello, Rich.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They were silent for a moment in the manner of males with absolutely nothing to talk about. The smell of roasting pork wafted from the house, and, like all males, they gravitated towards it, being pulled inexorably like asteroids towards an unsuspecting planetoid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Well then,' said Richard Junior, as they approached the door, 'now that we have been approximately human to one another, would you like to join us for dinner, Kalsis?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Amardian boy pulled himself steeply off his course towards Planet Ham. 'Thanks, but mum wants me to have dinner at home tonight. She's pretty mad that I've been spending every evening at Lauren's place. Says she's a dirty heathen. I don't think so, because dirty heathens usually have ritual scars and eldritch tattoos proclaiming their servitude to the dark powers, and I haven't seen any anywhere on -' he stopped himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'On?' chorused father and son.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Oh, nothing. Anyway, yeah, she's pretty mad that I've been getting home late every night for the past few months.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Eh? Having dinner at the Heaths' every night, eh? The food's good?' Richard's father was not what you could call astute.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Er, yeah. Eating dinner. Yeah.' Kalsis escaped the pull of the ham and was walking towards where he had hitched his horse, which, while also bad-tempered, was a field of daisies compared to Aladaranar. 'I'd love to stay, but we're not allowed to eat pork.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'What're you talking about?' asked Richard Senior as Richard Junior slipped into the house with a wave to Kalsis. 'You eat pork for snacks all the time you're here! You were drifting to the ham about a minute ago!'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Ah, well, we must, ah... have some vices so as to ah, keep in touch with sin, and ah, as such use our knowledge of it to ultimately defeat it.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Ah, I see. You're a pious young man, Kalsis. Hurry on home, and give my regards to your family.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'I doubt I should do that, sir. They think you're heathens too. Everyone's a heathen who doesn't worship more gods than he can count on his fingers, toes, and other miscellaneous extremities of the body. That's why my parents shave their hair, and mum wears a wig.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The last market day for the summer's crops was always a very enjoyable and profitable affair, particularly for Richard and Kalsis' mutual friend Marius, who was twenty-four years old and fetched quite a lot of money by travelling a lot, playing music and picking pockets. He always spent his winters in Die Torquin, and this year he had come early because of what he called 'urgent business considerations'. The boys correctly took that to mean that he had annoyed the wrong sort of people and was on the run.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As he had no actual home of his own, he spent his winters at Richard's house; Kalsis said - and Richard agreed - that his parents would probably hack up Marius on sight because of his long hair and extravagant attire. Richard's parents did not mind letting him sleep in the barn with the privilege of a pillow and several blankets, because every year he brought back gifts he claimed to have bought on his journeys. He did not eat too much as he neither gained nor lost weight anyway. All he actually needed to survive was food that was at or barely above the quality of iron rations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before going through the tedium of greetings to the family and returning greetings to the guest, though, Marius had joined them for the afternoon in enjoying the sights and sounds of the village. Richard already noticed that the traveller's coin purse was quite a bit bulkier than it had been when he arrived. He knew that Marius would not steal from him nor Kalsis, but he checked his own pouch just to be sure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Still seeing that Claudia girl, Kalsis?' inquired Marius as he eyed a passing girl from the next village down the highway towards the city of Drasin to the south. Marius enjoyed the company of young women almost as much as Kalsis did, but he enjoyed the company of money more. He hefted the girl's coin pouch and poured the contents into his own after some consideration of obscure factors not relating in any way whatsoever to basic ethics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'No,' replied the Amardian. 'It's Lauren now.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Oh, her. Blonde hair, blue eyes? Slim girl? Your parents think she's a dirty heathen?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Thanks, Marius,' said Kalsis, 'you just described every young lady in the village.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard managed a short laugh. 'You're getting tired of them, Kalsis? Why, you've only been in bed with about six or seven.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Yeah, well I was thinking of going away for a while to look for something more exotic. Maybe in the north? What's it like in the north?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'More machinery, Kalsis,' said Marius. 'What, not thinking about the Amardian girls, either? How about the Ventarans? The tribals in the big forest to the east?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Not the Amardian girls. They're very beautiful, but no. With them it'd all be about the ruinous nature of the sins of the flesh, and how you should only ever do anything of the sort with your wife,' Marius' face contorted into a look of horror mixed with indignant offence, and Kalsis continued, 'and the only time I think they'd feel satisfied and scream "Oh gods!" is when they're sticking a sacrificial knife into a goat. As for the other types of girls, I haven't seen them.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard's attention wandered away at Marius' reply of 'Oh, you should see them. They're like...' and began to scan the crowd. More people had turned out onto the wet cobbles of the village square than he had expected. The rain had cleared up a bit. It seemed to be shy of crowds. It was nice to see Commerce happening, anyway. Farmers were selling the last of the summer's corn and whatever else they had grown in the summer along with animals and their various secretions. Richard never really paid much attention to farm work. Sometimes, on days when the wind would blow westerly, he would sneak away from his chores and climb atop the windshield of raised earth and trees to listen. The wind off the Great Deep would blow the sound of the waves and the smell of salt very far inland. He had never seen the sea, but imagined it as Marius described it to him: like a lush field of summer's wheat blowing in the wind, only blue and with big things with teeth swimming in it. He didn't put much effort into imagining the big things with teeth. To him, the sea that he imagined was beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wind changed to south-westerly, and blew hard for a moment, stripping sodden leaves off trees and flapping canvas over stalls. As Kalsis and Marius talked about girls and their various talents, Richard thought about thought and magic. Thought was magic, wasn't it? Or was magic thought? He tried to remember what the wizard said to him when he borrowed some magic stones to try and create power to make his flying machine work. He tried some more. He failed. Marius was poking him in the side. He managed an inquiring grunt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'I said, it'll start to rain soon, and it's a pretty long walk back to your farmstead.' Marius took his large backpack from the empty wagon they sat in, and hefted it onto his shoulders.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Yeah, and nothing interesting happened this year anyway,' said Kalsis. 'Might be because of the early rains. Nobody feels like going outside for too long. I think I'll go home, too. No sticking around having a go at the village girls tonight. Dad wants me to get ready for the Festival of Lamnae, who is the goddess who Brings the First Rains of Autumn.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'You know, Kalsis,' said Richard, 'for a sinful sort of person such as yourself, you're awfully good at remembering the names of these gods and what they do. And you even observe their holy days.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'It helps, my friend,' replied Kalsis, 'to know who you're in trouble with and to, at least once a year, make them happy.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'How did you manage to provoke the wrath of the goddess of the first rains of autumn?' asked Marius with a raised eyebrow and an incredulous expression on his face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'I didn't. At least I think I didn't. Never hurts to be on the safe side. That and dad'll have my ears if I forget to lay out the Holy Orange Umbrella.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two hours later and Richard was seated at the dinner table with his parents and Marius. They ate in silence as rain lashed against the windows and pounded on the roof, demanding entry without an invitation. Marius had brought for Richard's father a sturdy pewter flagon and a set of wines and spirits from the north, and for his mother a gold necklace with real emeralds in it, the provenance of which he was not at liberty to divulge because of 'business considerations'. Richard knew he stole it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Richard, he had brought a polished steel dagger with a silver crossguard in the shape of two eagles' heads, with rubies inlaid for eyes. He claimed that it was a gift from a friend, and this excuse was one so unlike him that Richard had no choice but to believe that he had not merely transfered the possession of the object behind its owner's back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'So you'll teach young Richard here how to use that knife, eh?' asked Richard Senior, while Richard Junior's mother Agatha pursed her lips and gave Marius the glare of an overprotective female parent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Yessir, don't you worry about that. If he knows how to use it, he's less likely to hurt himself if he ever has to cut any... thing. It's always a good idea to know how to protect yourself, sir, as you obviously know from the size of that club hanging by the door, and the excellent state of repair of that crossbow you keep on top of the fireplace. A Smith and Gullynock "Obliterator" Mark Three eighth-inch lever-action light crossbow, no? Last year's model?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard senior nodded with a broad smile. 'Got it shipped down from Mellias during the summer. I heard there'll be trouble with wolves this winter.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marius smiled. 'Well prepared. If you can keep a secret, however, I will tell you a little something I heard on the grapevine.' They nodded, Agatha somewhat more hesitant than the males. 'It won't just be wolves you'll be having trouble with here in the south. I was travelling along the border on an errand for one of my benefactors when I heard from some off-duty soldiers that there's been a lot of Amardian movement recently. Your friends down the road wouldn't know about this, because it's pretty recent. What I saw along some of the mountain paths, however, is more worrying. I intend to go back to Mellias in the spring and tell my employer that there are Amardian troops filtering through the border as we speak, and it'll be bad for his business. I'm not supposed to tell anyone too soon, because any undue panic will let them know that we know what they're doing, and that would make them edgy. Bad for business, you see.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'What are they doing?' asked Richard Senior. Everyone around the table had become silent. Food had ceased to be consumed. Even the rain seemed to be listening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'They're preparing for war.'

[archimage_a]

In relation to your sig some literture is better when you can't read it, as my english teacher pointed out many a time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But that was a grand opening, I find stories that are over the top in the description and dialogue department are usally quite a good read.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I also found your take on the classic story of the layabout boy with an intrest in that stuff that is 'un-godly',

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although it was fairly differcult to get my head round the characters but I suppose that is because you do not really include what people are thinking. You write with speech, something I can't do. So it will most like become more understandable(to me) as the the story progresses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All in all its looks to be a cracking story. :D

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(yes I am complimenting you, no this is not sarcasm)

[dragoncmd]

unfortuanetly I haven't gotten a chance to read much yet but I LOVE your prologue. Is this set in a D&D system like your other stories or is it seperate? If it is, what calendar system is that?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

EDIT:

 

 

 

Finished the first chapter, Great as usual, a nice little cliffhangar at the end. I liked the sense of humor thrown into what is otherwise a fairly serious story, but I'm still wondering if your designing these towns yourself or if its taken off a campaign setting.

[Zonorhc]

It's from my homebrew campaign setting, with a few changes on the fly to work better as a literary piece. :P

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Should get to writing chapter two soon.

[Zonorhc]

CHAPTER TWO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The other visitor for the winter was Tershill, the jolly old man who lived in a tower several miles out of the village for most of the year. A fairly bony man of advancing years, he always came and went dressed in a splendid black robe with golden trimming. For some strange reason, he always carried a knobbly staff, and had the disconcerting ability to produce all sorts of things from within the folds of his robe, from pieces of fruit to half a camel. Nobody asked.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was the village wizard by default, meaning that he was naturally both the cause and solution to many of the villagers' problems, discounting the fact that he was never seen in the village for more than a season a year. Regardless of the number of people who blamed his arts for their various problems, the villagers always welcomed him and paid for his food and accomodation at the village inn. Nobody they knew could tell a tale like old Tershill, who conjured up sights, sounds and smells even as he spun stories of dragons, princesses and woefully adolescent heroes. It was Tershill that Richard's parents blamed for his imaginative streak, but in truth, young Richard was responsible for inspiring the old man in his many experiments out in his tower. If a week passed without a cloud of curiously-coloured smoke emanating from Tershill's tower, there was something fundamentally wrong in the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tershill was an item of mystery in the village, even if one forgot that he was the wizard who lived in the tall, foreboding tower outside town surrounded by bleak, forbidding woods. Actually, he claimed that the surrounding countryside was only like that because of the Regulations. The real mystery behind Tershill was that he had been a crotchety old man for longer than anyone could remember. If collective reckoning could be trusted - and it never can, as anyone knows, but people stick to it as safe canon, anyway - then he was at least a hundred years old. But the old man could still drink like a demon and play sports with the best of them, and nobody ever criticised him for his age, oh, no. He had a garden and pond full of those people.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everyone knew it was almost winter the day he came into the village, his boots muddy and his robe, against all reason, dry as bone. His crooked twenty-four carat grin was set around his ridiculously long pipe as he announced to the villagers present in the inn that none of his experiments managed to escape this year, either. Everyone remembered the time, three years ago, when an abnormally large purple armadillo with thrashing tentacles had tramped about in the snow for a week and a half before a detachment of lancers from Drasin brought it down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So it was that Tershill stayed in the inn for the winter, and everyday, bored villagers would come and be entertained by his seemingly neverending supply of tall tales, and even short tales in the case of those stories which involved dwarves. All villagers, of course, except for Kalsis' parents, who believed with all their righteous fervour that Tershill was a servant of the Ruinous Powers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'It's ridiculous,' said Kalsis as they sat at a table near the fire listening to Tershill's story about a kidnapped princess who turned out to be a dragon, much to the chagrin of her captors.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'What?' asked Richard as he downed a spoonfull of thick broth. 'I thought it was pretty realistic, especially the bit where she grew claws and eviscerated one of the bad people.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'No, not that,' said Kalsis with a shake of the head. 'That,' he said, pointing to the frosted window, outside which his parents glared into the establishment, apparently with the intent of burning it down with the power of their minds. 'They've been there for an hour, out in the snow. They won't go in because this place is "rife with debauchery and the influences of the Ruinous Powers". They want me to go home and prepare for the festival of Baldoon, who Ensures The Pathways And Gutters Are Kept Free Of Snow.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard winced as every capital letter slammed into place. 'They didn't see you eating that leg of ham earlier, did they? Only you know, they're probably pretty mad already that you're sitting here with me in the inn listening to Tershill's stories.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'No, they didn't,' answered Kalsis as he eyed one of the girls across the room. Averting his gaze when she looked in his direction, he said, 'I should go. I'm going to have to find the Blessed Shovel of Snow-Clearing wherever they put it last year. Damned thing disappears every year just before the festival.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'You know, Kalsis, I've never actually seen the inside of your house.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'No,' said Kalsis as he stood up and pushed his chair in. 'I don't believe anyone outside my family has. You don't really want to. The place stinks of Religion.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Aren't you worried of being smoten by your gods or anything for saying that?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kalsis snorted. 'This inn's got a terracotta roof.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was the middle of winter. It was still dark outside when Richard woke up. As all adolescent boys tend to, he spent a good ten minutes rummaging through a pile of discarded clothing to find a cloak that would allow him to stay alive for longer than a minute in the snow. The landscape outside his small window was a flat expanse of snow undulating like icing on a cake, only without the sugar flowers or interesting doodads that don't actually contribute anything to the taste, like little candles or statuettes of newlyweds. The windshield of evergreen trees atop the berm of earth across the fields creaked slightly as it broke intermittent gusts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was early in the mornings that Marius taught him to use his dagger, reasoning that the cold was a good aid to respiration and any fauna which would be remotely threatening would still be asleep, such as wolves, Aladaranar, and Richard's mother.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard climbed down from the loft where he slept with his dagger in his hand, sheathed. The roaring fire from last night had died down to glowing embers, and the shutters rattled in the winds that managed to evade the trees. The bolt on the door slid aside easily, and he managed to slip out without letting too much wind through. There had been snow through the night, as the thatch was all too willing to remind him. Coldness on his head almost made him yelp, and he shook off the snow as quickly as he could. He still shivered in the chill air despite his cloak, and as Marius was not as of yet present, Richard found himself a place to stand out of the wind in the lee of the barn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Minutes passed, and Richard became impatient. It was bitterly cold outside even without the wind, and he rubbed his chest for warmth, letting his arms take care of themselves. Finally, he restored some warmth and movement into his legs as well, and he slipped into the barn to check on Marius. Aladaranar glared at him as he passed, and the cattle ignored him, content instead to chew on hay. The hayloft where Marius slept was deserted. The bedroll and blankets were still there, but Marius had gone. Confused, disappointed and somewhat angry at the man's absence, Richard stormed out into the snow again. There were light bootprints, barely noticeable, leading out of the barn and towards the road. Richard followed them, and half an hour later found himself in the village, where the only signs of life were in the inn, Torquin's Rest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marius and Tershill were the only people inside, and they were conversing quietly near the fire. As always, Tershill's knobbly staff was close to hand, and Marius seemed to be showing the wizard something small and metallic, glinting orange in the firelight. Both men looked up as Richard entered, and Tershill quietly gathered up whatever it was on the table as Marius said, 'Richard! Apologies for not leaving a note. I had some urgent business to discuss with this man.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'No matter, boy, we were just finishing up. I've got to go right away, so if'n there're people who ask, tell 'em I've gone back to the tower. I know it's a wee bit early, but I've got some business to attend to. Get 'em to send me my food and other supplies, and tell 'em I'll pay at th' door. If'n they're too scared to go, tell 'em th' place only looks scary-like 'cause of th' Regulations. It ain't actually dangerous. As such. Often.' The wizard hurried out of the inn, his knobbly staff clunking everytime it struck the floor or some furniture.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'What was that about?' asked Richard. Without waiting for an answer, he adds, 'Does it have anything to do with what you said about a war three months ago?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Tell you what,' said Marius, neatly avoiding both questions. 'Since we're here anyway, do you want to get some practice in? The square's still empty outside, and we can get breakfast here in the inn afterwards.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard shrugged and nodded, slightly annoyed at all the cloak-and-dagger secrecy. Better late than never, anyway, and at least his mother wouldn't be glaring at him over breakfast. They stepped out of the inn into the first dim rays of the sun, and walked out into the centre of the village square, snow crunching under their boots. Marius stopped abruptly and asked, 'You ready?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before Richard could answer, Marius whipped around, a kick levelled at his side. He felt the wind explode from his lungs as he hit the snow, feeling the sting of cold on his face. He groaned, and looked up as Marius offered him a hand. 'That was hardly fair, Marius.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'It isn't a question of being fair. If you're ready, you're ready. If you're not, you'll probably be dead. You've learned quickly from what I've taught you over the past two months, but now I'll teach you something about fighting that has nothing to do about how you move your blade. Now get up.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard took the offered hand and stumbled to his feet, only to have himself pulled forward hard, tripped and then fall face-first into the ground. He gripped his sheathed dagger hard as he spat and wiped snow off his face. 'Ouch.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He heard the sound of Marius drawing his own knife, a wicked thing with a heavy, curved blade with the edge on the inside of the curve. He called it a kukri. 'Come on, then,' said Marius, taking a step backward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard gritted his teeth for a moment, then sprang to his feet, throwing a handful of snow into Marius' face. Marius flinched, and he followed through with a kick to the shin as he drew his own dagger, crouching and ready to defend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marius grimaced and wiped snow from his face with the back of his free hand. 'That's better. Good move. Don't kick so hard though, we're only practising.' He ducked and advanced, halting as Richard stepped to the side and lunged, letting him strike nothing but air. He grabbed Richard's outstretched forearm and swung his kukri up at his stomach.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard leapt back to avoid the blade and pulled himself along with Marius to the ground, raising his knee as he went. Marius gave an 'Oof' of pain as he fell onto Richard's knee, rolling off to the side breathing hard as the boy sprang to his feet once more. Richard was ready as Marius regained his footing, lunging with the intent of allowing Marius to parry the attack. The parry came, and as Richard's dagger veered off to the side, he lunged hard, snapping the dagger back and throwing an elbow at Marius' stomach. He kicked up some snow with his left foot into Marius' face, then fell as the older man rolled into him, knocking him off his feet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He fell hard on his back, with Marius' kukri over his face. Both of them were breathing hard. Marius smiled. 'Good. You learn quickly, as always. Just remember the lesson - just because weapons are out, it doesn't mean that they're the only things you can fight with. If you're fighting for your life, you fight dirty. Use everything you have to your advantage. An elbow to the nose can hurt as much as a dagger to the arm, and it'll keep you alive if you can stun your enemy before trying to do anything.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marius helped him up, and they staggered back to the inn. 'We'll go back to the farm after this,' said Marius. 'Your mother's probably worried.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Several minutes later, they were tucking in to a hearty breakfast of bread, butter, bacon and eggs with fresh milk on the side. The inn was still empty but for them, and they ate in relative silence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Marius?' said Richard as he chewed through posthumous pig. Marius gave a questioning grunt as he chewed. 'Have you ever killed anyone?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marius swallowed his food, and, after a moment's thought replied, 'Yes,' as though the thought disturbed him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'What's it like?' asked Richard as he speared some more bacon with his fork.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Hard. It's something that you wouldn't want to do. You have to keep remembering that you're killing a human being. The man you stick a knife into might have a wife and kids, or maybe a dear little sister somewhere. He'll have had parents at some point who worried about him, just like you. Before you met him, he probably had an honest job somewhere. Just like you. When you kill a man, you know he's just like you, even if he has differently-coloured skin or hair or eyes, even if he believes some funny things or has strange habits. It's a terrible thing. It's like everytime you kill a man, you lose a bit of your own humanity.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Why did you do it, then?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Because I had to. Don't get me wrong. I'd rather not do it, because it's a horrible thing to do to someone else. They've got people who know them somewhere or other who would really feel bad if they found out, and you'd hate to make them feel that way just because you killed a man. Yes, it's terrible. Be that as it may, I'd much rather keep myself alive. The way I see it, I wouldn't want the man to live with the idea that he killed someone who was just like him.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'What if he didn't?' wondered Richard as he chewed bacon. 'Think you were just like him, I mean. What if someone had told him that everyone who didn't have the same colour skin as him wasn't human, and he believed them?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'There's no difference,' said Marius, buttering some bread. 'He's still a man. If he truly believes that you're not like him, that doesn't mean you can believe the same of him. He might not feel anything when he kills you or other men, but is that his fault? It's the way he's taught. For all you know, he's probably just following orders. He might have family somewhere that might be killed if he doesn't. It's terrible, but they do it because they have to. You don't blame the man with the sword for killing your friend any more than you blame the sword for killing your friend. You blame whoever made him that way and whoever ordered him to do it. Most men wouldn't kill of their own free will. Those that would are probably not right in the head, but it probably isn't their fault. And anyway, the fact is that if he's trying to kill you, you don't have time to think about what you're doing. You try to stop him. You stop him and you'll probably live. You can think about what you did later, but if your life's on the line, you wouldn't stop and try to convince him he's doing something he'll regret. It doesn't matter what his reasons are. You're welcome to find out, but you have to be alive to do it.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They finished breakfast and returned to the farm in short order.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kalsis was at the gate, on his horse. 'Father saw some men on horses out near the woods. I thought I'd tell you. I think something's up. He's gone to try and see what they want. Mother went with him.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marius swore. He swore a lot. When he was done, he told Kalsis, 'Go back and take some clothes, food and water. Ride south along the highway to Drasin as fast as you can, it'll be safe there. Don't bother looking for your them. They're as good as dead.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kalsis nodded after a moment of thought. In mute shock, he kicked his horse into a trot and sped off to his farmhouse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'I should tell mum and dad,' said Richard, moving quickly to open the gate. 'I'd hate to ask you to do this, but could you hitch up Aladaranar to the cart? We'd all probably need to go if it's as bad as you say. Do you think they're Amardians?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marius said nothing as he drew out his kukri. 'I'm sorry, Richard,' he said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard turned around, and his world exploded in red then turned black.

[archimage_a]

Great cliffhanger and there was some humour in there which I would have normaly found very funny but since I have a cold it is fairly hard to laugh without feeling worse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is quite alot of backround and mystery still, which is good.

[dragoncmd]

I HATE YOUR CLIFFHANGERS!!!

 

 

 

Um... great as usual?

[Zonorhc]

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

 

Richard awoke in a tent. It would have been easier for him to figure that out if he knew what a tent was. To him, it was a bedroll and blanket on dirt and grass, sheltered from the cold by canvas and a small brazier three feet away. What he could see of the world outside the tent flap was dark. A stiff breeze caused the canvas to flap, and it took Richard the better part of a minute to remember what happened. He groaned. A dim shape moved on the other side of the brazier.

 

 

 

There was something disconcerting about being sheltered from the cold by a sheet of canvas propped up by sticks, with a copper basin full of red-hot coals an arm's length away.

 

 

 

'Richard?' It was Kalsis. 'You awake?'

 

 

 

With grunt-provoking effort, Richard propped himself up on his elbows. 'Yeah. Where are we? Last I knew, Marius and I were near the farm after you left, then I blacked out.'

 

 

 

Kalsis was silent. Canvas fluttered, and Richard could hear a faint gurgling sound from somewhere. Coals in the brazier cracked. The silence was trying extremely hard to be oppressive, but fell short of the 'dictator' mark. 'Well?' Richard asked.

 

 

 

'We're just north of Drasin,' was all the Amardian boy said for a while, then: 'They picked me up a few miles south of Torquin. They're apparently part of the seventh light cavalry, out of Mellias.'

 

 

 

Richard laid back down on his bedroll, and rolled over away from the brazier. Mostly because his backside was cold. 'There's something you're not telling me, Kal. Seventh light cavalry? And what? Didn't you say your father saw horsemen near the village?'

 

 

 

There was the sound of cloth rustling. 'I don't know. Some of the men are wounded, and they wouldn't say anything when I asked them about the village.'

 

 

 

'Marius?'

 

 

 

'Haven't seen him. They said they picked you up out cold near a farm, and you were alone. I hope Marius is alright. I hope everyone's alright.'

 

 

 

Me too, was the only thing that lined up in Richard's mind for him to say, but he didn't say it. He made links in his mind. Then he slept.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

The little room was dark, humid and had the smell of cabbages about it. A small coffee table had been conscripted to bear an ashtray of ridiculous proportions and a bottle of whiskey, with two glasses. Smoke hung thickly in the air like wispy grey syrup. A dribbly candle stood atop a skull on a small shelf.

 

 

 

'Why the candle?' asked a raspy voice which had yet to develop the slur that was the blessing of alcohol. 'You could have used a lamp.'

 

 

 

The figure on the other side of the table was silent. Grey smoke streamed out of the darkness to add to the ominous atmosphere, as it were. Tap, tap. Ashes floated down into the wide bowl like warm snow, some still shimmering orange.

 

 

 

'Alright,' said the first voice, 'don't need to know. Gotcha. Tell me -' a hand reached out and poured another glass of whiskey '- why Die Torquin? Harmless village, isn't it? Least that's what I thought when I went on that market day. 'course, all my money disappeared, but that isn't really news to me anymore.'

 

 

 

Still silence.

 

 

 

'Why? Was there anything to find? Not that I'd know what you could find after you torch the place. Still, considerate. Burned it after the harvest had been sold? Nice touch there. That gives Drasin a couple of days' extra food.' The voice carried a hint of ironic approval.

 

 

 

Silence. Wax crawled from the candle's lip, down the skull, over the edge of the shelf and then onto the stone floor, where it cooled in a yellow lump. A draught snuck its way in under the door, bringing snowflakes to scatter themsleves along the floor before melting.

 

 

 

The raspy man coughed. 'No word from Marius?'

 

 

 

The silent man was predictably silent. He shook his head.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Lieutenant Pritz was shaving in his tent early in the morning when the boy came in unexpectedly, and as it was unexpected, it was rather surprising to a straightforward cavalry officer such as himself. He winced. He was mild-tempered, though, and finished up without so much as a profanity before turning around, towel around his neck, to see a teenage boy at the flap. Bugger, he thought. He didn't like explaining things to young people. He didn't know the words to use.

 

 

 

'I was told you're the man in charge,' said the boy, whom the lieutenant remembered the squad picked up yesterday.

 

 

 

Not being a lying man, Pritz nodded. It was the sort of nod that would come easily to a man who had someone named Tony at the door asking politely for debt money.

 

 

 

'I'm Richard,' said the boy, almost timidly. 'You picked me up near Die Torquin yesterday. Why didn't you leave me? What happened to the village?'

 

 

 

Pritz stared. If I believed in gods I'd be thinking 'Oh god, oh gods, how in the hells do I tell him?' I swear someone told me before that people didn't think so quickly when it's cold. And I swear it's winter and damn well freezing. 'I'm not at liberty to answer that,' was what he said. 'I'm sorry.' Thank the gods - who don't exist! - for officer training. I swear they teach you the best cop-out lines there.

 

 

 

'Why are Kalsis and I being taken to Drasin?' Richard continued to ask. 'Why is a squad of cavalry being sent to Drasin in the first place? Does this have to do with the war?'

 

 

 

Pritz almost swallowed his tongue. He knows, he knows. Bugger. He knows more than my men. 'Hush!' said Pritz, moving quickly to the tent flap to see if there was anyone outside who would hear. 'Nobody said there was a war on, understand?' he said to Richard in a low voice. 'There might be a little... misunderstanding... with our Amardian neighbours, but nobody said anything about a war. We're just going down to Drasin for a cup of tea, that's all. Yeah, that's it. A nice cuppa. It's cold.'

 

 

 

Richard stared at him for a moment. Blond hair, blue eyes, hint of a stubble. Richard wasn't surprised. 'I'm sixteen, sir,' he said. 'I'm old enough to know that you don't need to bring sabres and a cart full of lances to a tea party.'

 

 

 

Bugger. This one knows how to think. Pritz rubbed his chin, and winced where he touched his cut. 'Alright, fine. I'll be honest with you, kid. Come in, take a seat. Good.' He took a stool opposite Richard. I hate having to tell the truth to people. It's bad for morale. 'The Amardians raided Torquin. We don't know why. They burned the village, and we found you on the road near a farm. They must have thought you were dead. Your friend we found later, riding down to Drasin on a tired old horse. We're taking you two down for your protection. Does that answer your question?'

 

 

 

Richard said nothing. He was silent for a few minutes. Pritz fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of his tunic. Crap, crap. Probably said it too bluntly. Crap. His parents were probably at home. Crap.

 

 

 

Still silent, the boy stood up and walked out of the tent, cloak drawn tightly around his slim frame. Tiny snowflakes blew in through the open flap for a moment before it closed. Pritz didn't see the tears in Richard's eyes, but if he did, he probably would have said 'Crap' a few times.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Clear winter nights were some of Richard's favourite times, when the sky above was clear and stars shone brightly alongside the Belt, which glowed like a great necklace of little moons. Lieutenant Pritz's squad rode easily, more for the benefit of the injured soldiers than for actual comfort. They were close to Drasin now, and most of the men - and Richard, too - were of the opinion that there would be no point in resting until they were within the walls of the city and out of the biting cold.

 

 

 

Kalsis rode to Richard's right, his lean face set in an expression of numb shock. Earlier in the day he realised, as Richard had, that Die Torquin was quite possibly in ruins by now, and their parents' fate was unknown. It didn't help that they didn't know what had happened to Marius, either. None of the men had seen the itinerant thief as they passed through the village.

 

 

 

They were passing through sparse woodland, the trees doing nothing against the chill wind, which blew in gusts from time to time, shaking snow off branches and onto the path or a rider's lap. The path was leading downhill, and they could clearly see Drasin ahead, the lights of the bustling port city still lit and unlikely to dim anytime soon. From their vantage point, Richard could see that the city was built on a series of terraces down to the coast, with walls on the edge of every cliff as well as around the upper city. The city was clearly fortified against threats both on land and sea. Richard had never seen a city so large before, and his imagination went wild on the possibilities within those walls. Die Torquin was a farming community of less than three hundred people; Drasin was at least twenty times that, by his reckoning.

 

 

 

And then there was the sea. Richard had only imagined it before, never seen. There it was, pale silver and black in the light of the Belt, golden near the docks of Drasin. It twinkled like the stars as waves swelled and broke. The wind blew the smell of salt towards them, stronger than he remembered it in Die Torquin. Ice gleamed in the moonlight.

 

 

 

'Like it, eh?' one of the soldiers asked him, seeing his expression of rapt interest. 'That there's one of the biggest ports on this side of the world. Not that it's saying much.'

 

 

 

'I don't see any farms,' Richard noted.

 

 

 

The soldier laughed. 'Cities don't usually have them, and especially not in the dead of winter. The soil around Drasin isn't very good, so it gets its food from other places. It's got a decent fishing industry, though.'

 

 

 

'Look at it, Kalsis,' the boy said eagerly. 'It's beautiful.'

 

 

 

Kalsis grunted. 'Yeah.'

 

 

 

'Leave him be,' the soldier said quietly. 'I think he's having a hard time.'

 

 

 

Richard nodded as he shifted in the saddle uncomfortably. I should be, too. Why aren't I?

[archimage_a]

Good continued storyline, I like that you have included some thought behind some of the things, although you did go slightly too far. You should not always say that people are telling the truth, although it did go quite well that time. I also loved the bit about not believeing in gods, but being thankful for them anyway. Nice with the officer training as well.

 

 

 

All in all I enjoyed it alot.