The event
One day, a strange and sudden force was noticed at dusk by those sensitive to magic. Herran, more than curious, left his liege, with permission, to investigate. It wasn’t often that he shirked his duties outside of his rare free times. This new vibration in the air was something he had never felt before. He was a tan, older looking man, dark brown hair with gray scattered in — a loyal servant to prince Therron, the son of king Corr of Corsenia.
The bustling streets were as normal, filled with people finding entertainment, although some looked perturbed. He asked a few bystanders — the ones he could tell had magical affinity — the exact direction of the disturbance. Down the road, they pointed. Not close enough for a pinpoint, then. Herran kept walking. The revelry wasn’t yet at its peak with the sun on its way down, the danger that may be looming had nothing to do with that. Couples, singles, groups, unsanctioned parties — all allowed by Corr; he let his city patrol handle any miscreants. Despite how it looked, it was safe: anyone caught in a nefarious act was risking their life, and people seemed fond enough to keep theirs.
Oppressive. Despite combining his book enthusiasm with a strict walking routine, the late summer’s heat felt suffocating in Herran’s prescribed regalia, which was high quality and embroidered. Finery from far reaches. Should he have switched out of it? He looked out of place compared to the streets of barely clothed partygoers. He had no choice, he was sure this was more official than a simple walk outside, no matter what he found.
Few heads turned, most people ignored him. The city patrol looked fancy too, being clothed by the pockets of king Corr himself. Even though the populace couldn’t afford such riches, seeing splendor was a consistent recurrence.
He approached the outer reaches of the inner city surrounding the castle, nearing the first bridge, beyond the outer high class residential. He approached a group that was hanging out on a bench.
“Would you happen to have felt a disturbance?” Herran asked.
A tall man dressed in ragged green answered him, “She did.” An outfit so bright was an assault to anyone’s eyes, it was the choice color of the poor trying to look rich, “She always feels things. Just ignore her like we do.”
“Thanks. I’m currently acting as a representative of the king; I would like to speak with her in private. Over there.” Herran pointed to a tree out in the open, an attempt to avoid strange conclusions.
The man grinned. “Alright, have her then.” Herran meant to avoid this implication in his wording. He ignored it, since it was too indirect to punish.
Single hand up to the lady, fingers combined to avoid hostility. A claw shaped hand had been iffy starting in times before Corr. Moments later, she followed Herran.
When they got to the open, secluded location, he asked her, “Ma’am. You felt a magic coming from nearby?”
Her hand squirmed over to her other arm. She avoided eye contact. Herran assumed she was uncomfortable being this close to the power of royalty, or its direct reach, “Speak freely. I’m investigating only that, not you. Would you please tell me what happened and where it was?” Herran asked.
She took a moment to think over her answer. What came out had a forced, flustered intonation, “He went that way when he saw you approach. He has a different aura. I can’t describe it.”
“‘He?’” Herran marveled at the implications. The air had more of that unique buzz here, the interruption in the midst of constant harmony. People had oscillating presences. As the kingdom’s current foremost mage, he could find people by the minutest difference in presence alone. There was a trail of it heading to where she pointed out. Herran could tell it was somewhat hidden, as if they had a grasp of their own aura and a will to hide it. Perhaps somebody with a knack for magic, but untrained.
“Thank you. I’ll walk you back before I continue my search.” He accompanied her to the group, as was in his gentlemanly nature.
Before she was returned, she whispered, “Don’t hurt him, he didn’t seem all that bad.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Herran couldn’t promise. He was off with haste.
The trail pulled him into the smaller alleys. Darker. Sickening. Sensibilities challenged by the stench of trash, stacked in designated areas for tomorrow’s pickup. Following further, he arrived at a split in the road. He felt the trail radiate both directions, not wanting to be found. He picked one and walked. Herran could not be thrown off by silly games. He went down more streets and alleys until he found himself near a small harbor connected to the city’s river.
The sun cast orange waves of light over the water. Rowboats next to sailboats waiting for their owners to have time for their pleasure cruises. This was the bougie part of the river — the economic parts were further up and further down.
Herran looked. A silhouette he’d never seen before standing close by the harbormaster. Trouble apparent. Pale as ivory and bone with short, pitchblack hair. His grimy bodysuit had matching black plates. Herran didn’t recognize the make of his garb: it looked stronger and more lightweight than what his known artisans were able to produce. The stranger looked backwards, at Herran, realizing he was about to get caught. The black-haired man swiftly grabbed the owner of the boats in a strong hold, taking him as a hostage. A knife hovering by the boatworker’s neck.
Herran stopped, hands up. “Please release mister Ertomee. We can talk this out without bloodshed.”
“Let me go. I want out of here. Give me a boat.” The stranger stated. Herran assessed him to be taller than himself, as tall or taller than Therron, which would be taller than almost everyone in the kingdom except the king, who was his own category. Not from here, Herran deduced. He noted the haircut: short but not to the scalp, deep black poking out evenly, as if militarily prescribed.
“I can grant every reasonable wish, please don’t maim my poor harbor owner. He’s but a bystander.” Herran negotiated.
“I can’t let him go.” The newcomer put his knife away in a swift motion. He still had his hands on the boater.
Herran’s fingers twitched in anticipation. He assumed this wasn’t a deescalation: strength without a knife — death was only a snap away. “Would you please let him go? You’re an expert fighter. So am I. Someone asked me not to harm you, so I’m allowing you a chance. You will prove yourself a nuisance very shortly. Unhand him.”
The man looked at the boater, his only bargaining chip. He continued assessing the man in regalia, and the situation he found himself in.
Arrival
Peaceful waters lapped against the wooden docks. The sun was below the horizon, creating a subdued light where things were still well visible. Some lanterns had flame in them, others, stamped with an ornate seal, housed dim gems.
This area was secluded. He wondered if he’d ever seen such splendor of serenity in his life, although something nagged at him that he couldn’t trust the old man. How did someone so old and unassuming make it into fancy clothes like that? He figured that wasn’t a mystery he was able to figure out in the time it took to upset the old man. He let go of the boater who scurried past the older man and out of sight.
“Thank you. I assure you I only mean harm if you do.” ‘Mr. Regal’ said.
“Figured.” The now lone man snapped coldly.
‘Old Man’ smiled, “Could I offer you a beer? What’s your name?”
“I’m not from here and I’m not staying, so let me go and get out of my face.” It occurred to him now, the newcomer, that they were having a conversation. The others he met on his way down here did not understand him and he had never heard their words before.
‘Fancy’ informed, “This is Corsenia, the largest, safest city in the whole region of Corsenia. We are ruled by King Corr, the next in line is prince Therron. We are a stable, warmongering nation. This means that if you joined another nation, you would not be safe. Our infantry is excessively skilled and funded.” A warning meant to disarm — he conveyed warmth rather than distance, “Please, stay. Explain where you’re from, since I don’t recognize your armor. I’m a historian and a knowledge fanatic at heart: please indulge this old man with your stories.” Enthusiasm flared in his tone.
“Hm, ‘king’ Corr? Never heard of’m.” He retorted.
“How intriguing. He’s known in all the lands, as far as lands we know reach, in fact. You are not from here, that much is clear, so how do I make your stay more comfortable? It seems that a boat ride won’t bring you to your homeland. What can I offer? Herran asked.
“Not interested.” He crossed his arms. Stubborn, but it dawned on him that the old man was right: a boat, in fact, wasn’t going to absolve him of his current problems. He sighed.
‘Senior’ reiterated his offer. “I can do most things within reason. I am a delegate of the king, a friend of the prince. My influence, appropriately directed, knows no bounds.”
“Bring me to this king, then.”
“I can, but let’s be on proper terms first. Name, please? Mine’s ‘Herran’, the prince’s most prominent servant.”
The man, slowly breaking away from his staunchness, shared, “Name’s Zach. I’m a Lux-trained frontline operative, or was. I discharged myself.”
“Dishonorably, then?” Herran wanted this answer more than context on the miscellaneous tidbits.
“If that’s what you want to think. I had to get my family out. There was no one left to call it dishonorable. The point is, my conscience is clear. And if you don’t like it, we can’t be friends, bud.” Zach said.
“Ah, a moral conundrum indeed. I must get all the details when you’re ready. Foremostly, from what I can tell, you’re not here to assassinate the king or otherwise harm this nation, so please, follow me.” Herran gestured his hand, already being steps ahead towards the exit of the harbor. Zach followed, not seeing a better option. This harbor had nothing to offer him other than scenic views.
It would’ve been a quiet walk, had it not been for Herran’s curiosity, “So, where’s your family now?”
“First answer this: how is it that we’re talking? We understand each other, the others were different.” Zach asked.
“I’m a court mage. This magic was required of me for diplomatic purposes. I’ve become able to hear all speech, even yours which I’ve never come across before. Please, indulge me with the answer to my question now.”
“When I went through, they were right there with me. The next moment, there was just you people, your weird language, and other fancy fucks trying to capture me, so I ran. Found nicer people. Hung out. Then you came around.” Zach recalled.
“I see. Your family’s not here? I only felt your presence.” Herran said, his soothing tone hinted that he presumed the other did not want to hear this.
Zach took note, eyes shifting away from his conversational partner. He answered, “I’m not giving up hope. Maybe they’re just not here yet.”
Herran saw the man’s apprehension. He thought of something to avoid this painful topic of lost family. “Ah, yes, I’ll tell you something about myself: Like I said, I’m a mage. I’m from a long line of magic sensitives. Best mage in the country, if I may say so myself.”
“Remains to be seen.” Zach jabbed. “I’ve seen people do tricks before.”
Herran laughed, “Yes? It’s not that common here. You speak of it as if it is where you’re from.”
Zach stayed quiet. Nothing added up to him; maybe divulging more information on his whereabouts previously wasn’t the best strategy. There was no trust yet, and if anything, it was hard for him to trust anyone outside of people he knew for a long time.
Eyes followed them everywhere they went. Out of sight, boots shuffled and weapons were drawn. Every gate conceded, only because of Herran’s high rank and chaperoning.
He told the foreigner, “I’m bringing you to the court at once, as you are. My presence will translate most things said. Though, please be advised: Corr has a short fuse, and is no stranger to killing. It’s in your best interest not to do anything that will disrespect His Highness.”
Zach’s face cringed in annoyance. “Yeah, you don’t know me very well.”
Herran feigned a smile, agreeing with the sentiment. “Joyous. Great. You’ll do great.”
Zach controlled his kneejerk reaction to entering the castle: the pomp of this place was stifling. Who needs all this? The halls echoed less than the size of them implied; being filled with candles, decorations, statues, paintings and draperies of all kinds. In a few locations, there were vining plants in the areas near windows, which felt out of place, as if there was more to them. Gold, gems, other precious stones, covered every floor, wall and ceiling. Any candles only for show, since most light came from gems placed along the walls, ceilings and in stands. Similar to the ones at the harbor, but higher quality, lighting the whole space.
A booming opening of a heavy door. They reached a large room with stairs and Herran pointed out a man swaddled by regalia. He wore a type of golden crown that had two horns going straight back, “That’s prince Therron. He’s returning from a summons. I will join him once I get you settled.”
“That one’s got the fate of this nation in his hands, huh?” Zach removed himself from most implications, but his meaning was clear. Babyface can’t handle that kind of pressure.
“Indeed. He’s not a warmonger like his father. Luckily, the King has no motivation to retire any time soon. There’s still time for my guidance.”
“Mhm.” Zach watched the prince until he left his view. They were about similar ages and heights, but not builds. Therron was much sleaker, as if cardio was his main thing. While Zach wasn’t chunky, he was the type to help move a washer if asked.
“Please avert your eyes next time. It’s not proper for a foreigner to behold His Grace as if he meant to assassinate him.” Herran said.
“Quite right. It wouldn’t be much effort anyway.” Zach admitted, with barely an effort to whisper.
“You’ll love the King, then.” Herran stopped, and so did Zach, in front of another large door.
Herran was outwardly unphased by Zach’s provocations — despite seeming like a proper hardass — which showed him the true colors of the man he was dealing with. Someone who could figure out the intentions behind words. A good ally of a king. A wise choice for a guide. This he heeded.
“We will be called in shortly. I’ll relay my findings to the King, and He will respond according to His assessment. I must ask–” Herran was interrupted.
“No rudeness? No longing heart eyes? I get it. It’s pomp and circumstance or whatever. I don’t give a shit about all this.” Zach made clear.
Herran held back a response. His smile was the only tell that the situation he dragged in might’ve been more dire than he bargained for.
Doot doot. Horns blared. The large wooden doors inlaid with scriptures and depictions of battles were pulled away from Zach’s attention.
A sprawling room with more decorations of the highest quality opened. They stood. Six guards visible, assumed exits hidden by floor to ceiling drapery. Zach followed when Herran started walking. He was a dark contrast to the colorful, shining brightness of the room. The only other thing as dark — that he noticed — was the blackness of the king’s hair.
The horns still blared. They approached the throne. The one on it, seeming curious, sat up.
When the King lifted his hand, the horns puttered out irregularly. Herran bowed, but before Zach could do the same, king Corr addressed them, “Herran, is this what you’ve found while strolling about the city in your unsanctioned breaktime?”
“Your Royal highness, I–” Herran started, but Corr was unphased by formality whenever he pleased.
Corr spoke again, “Young man, your name? Affiliation?”
Zach enunciated clearly, “My name’s Zach. Zach Yaeger.” Herran bumped him. “YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS.” He added it on thick.
“Ha! That tells me nothing. A house ‘Yaeger’? Doesn’t exist. Herran, do you take me for a fool?” Corr’s hand made half a gesture, which made Herran stand stiff as a board. Corr continued, “Has he not been properly informed of conduct?”
“Sir, as you can see, he wears no known banners, armor beyond our current comprehension, and has an attitude of a lion lacking half a brain, but he wears its teeth and arrogance. It was impossible for me to teach him in the short time I took to be away from my important duties to your son.” Herran weaseled strategically.
“And return to your duties you will.” Corr sighed, “What to do with this stray? I have enough mouths to feed. Do you realize the trust you’re demanding, bringing an enemy to my court wearing full, bloodied combat gear?”
Eagerly waiting by the king’s side was a guard with his sword at the ready, expecting the followthrough of Corr’s gesture. Zach recognized the bloodthirst in his eyes. The longing to end a stranger’s short stint here. It appalled him, that life was so easily thrown away here too.
Herran spoke, “Your Highness. It was my intention to train him for our army. He wields knives with great precision, and he knows holds I’ve never seen before. He would be an asset. Your trust in me need not waver: he has no intention of bringing our people harm. I vouch for that.” Referring to Zach’s earlier antics, somehow twisting them into a useful thing. A skilled talker without equal. But was it enough?
Zach side-eyed Herran, saying under his breath, “I think I’m done with armies…”
Corr answered Herran, “Fine. You vouch for him: his misdeeds be on your head. Gain all his knowledge and then get rid of him.” The king flicked his hand another way. Herran bowed, and so did Zach, but half-hearted. Corr was already on his way out. Guards followed him, one looking back at the attendants with a pining.
Herran and Zach went down hallways to the courtyard. Outside, the sun had settled, giving way to less brutal conditions. Thumping. The sound of leather boots on pristinely cobbled paths, walking together. Trees and ornately carved stones neatly dotted along the path. They arrived at something that, to Zach’s tastes, was a mansion.
Herran said, “This will be your home.” He unlocked it and let him have the key, “There are servants here that will clean up the place and feed you. I will give you something soon that will allow you to communicate. In the meantime, try your best to be, let’s say, not rude. And do try to learn the language despite getting a translating tool.”
“Gotcha.” Zach said, looking around. Too large, although it was the smallest out of all the court’s buildings they walked by.
“Good night.” Herran turned and left the premises quickly.
Court lodgings
The door closed. Zach wasn’t the type to lock his doors when he was by himself. Before he could settle in solitude, two younger female servants, about twenty years old, came with snacks and clothes. Zach was in his middle twenties, so a little older than them.
They spoke. He wanted to ignore them, but they held their hands out, trying to offer him the new clothes.
“I’m not undressing in front of you.” He muttered. They looked at each other. An unsaid agreement passed between them before leaving the items on a nearby table. They also left a bell, most likely to call them, should he need them.
He sniffed. In the midst of the clean, mildly perfumed room, he was severely hygienically lacking. The gunk and guts on his uniform had mostly been removed by the portal. The suit that he’d been wearing for days, if not weeks — while it was breathable and antibacterial — couldn’t withstand everything that was inflicted on it. Outside it didn’t matter so much, especially near regular folk. Here it was wretched. It lingered, offensive even to his own nose.
“There a shower ‘round here?” He said out loud to himself.
Two male servants came to his aide, also in their twenties. He waved them off as well, “No, that’s not what I meant.”
These ones, instead of leaving like the girls, stood and waited. Someone had to attend to him.
“Shower? Bath? A spring or waterfall?” He asked. They did their utmost to understand. He didn’t want to excessively gesture, since that could miscommunicate. He grabbed the pile before they could and started walking.
Down hallways, up stairs, going through doors and rooms — finding bedrooms, sitting rooms and closets. He also made it into the back of house, which upset the servants. Hard work must remain unseen. By the time he was done exploring, he had a good idea of the layout of this house.
He went back to the bathroom. One of too many, with a giant metal bath in the middle of the room. He looked at the male servants who had been diligently loping at his pace, “So this is it, huh?”
Zach was no stranger to sharing lodgings on missions, and now was not the time to be shy. He gave his new clothes to a servant and started undressing. The other servant opened a gasket in the ceiling, from which came a pipe that poured scalding hot water into the tub. Steam filled the room like a sauna. The servants mixed buckets of room temperature water in with it. Zach waited, presuming the water came from pipes on the roof, still warm after a hot summer’s day. They took away his clothes and his armor. He decided to let them, knowing they would try to discover their secrets. At this point, he wasn’t Lux affiliated, so why should he care? Lux wasn’t here, wasn’t looking for him — he gave them enough time to come find him. Having been drafted by a megacorporation meant that they had an eye on him at all times. Plus, they wanted him dead: these weren’t his secrets to keep.
The servant gestured for him to get in the bath, and he did.
It was very thorough, more thorough than probably most people would’ve been bathed, but that was understandable. The water was changed carefully a few times and the brushing didn’t stop. They had strange earthy smells they mixed with the water and put in his hair. When he was done bathing, they lathered him with something that might’ve been their version of a deodorant.
Zach tried to figure out his new clothing. Too intricate, with loops, knots and belts. The servant had to show him how it all went together, and how easy it was to put on and take off. At least they had this understanding now: that he didn’t know the shit that everyone’s supposed to know.
He stood in the doorway. His skin tingled from the herbs combined with the thorough washing. Damp legs drying, which felt cold. He rubbed his eyes. He was in another land, at least, surrounded by people and a culture he didn’t know about, and he was worldly, so he thought he knew a little bit about everything. He should’ve been aware of a warmongering king in a faraway nation. Lux should’ve known. The portal malfunctioned, that much was clear. His family wasn’t here. He couldn’t find them, and Herran also couldn’t sense them. It was too early to give up hope, so he resolved to give it time.
The servants awaited any command, standing near invisibly at the side of the room.
Zach really wished for some privacy, “Could you leave me alone? I’ve got it from here.” The servant failed to obey, either refusing or not understanding.
Zach moved on. Bold slipper patters over tiled floor. He walked into one of the bedrooms, at which a servant stepped in and closed the door back up. Zach figured, “Not this one then…” He let the servant guide him to a room he had avoided since discovering it. The most lavish, ornate bed with decorations to match.
Zach groaned, knowing he couldn’t object, “Really? Do I look like the kinda guy that needs a room like this?”
The servants set his stuff in the furniture, making sure the room was as clean as possible before leaving him. Finally. There was water and refreshments on the table beside the bed. There was a nightgown on the bed, very airy, since, while the house had ventilation, there wasn’t powered cooling. He wasn’t used to sleeping in a gown, so he tucked in without it, ‘sleeping’ not long after.
Stay
During the night he heard many footsteps outside; some nearby, fluttery ones, that he thought were the female servants checking up on him outside of his door.
He almost never slept, and if he did, it wasn’t deep. It was part of his training and Lux’ medical body modifications. This first night in new lands, it was more refreshing just to lay there. Usually, in the quiet dark, horrific pictures came to mind of the bloody spectacles he fought in and had to survive. Previously he was supposed to keep people from the portal who weren’t allowed to use it but tried anyway. His world was dying, indirectly by his own fault. He left, against all of Lux’ orders, while holding hands with his family. Here, in the calm of night, he managed to overcome any deep reactions to it. Not many nights were like this; he suspected the mage to have a hand in his serenity. Maybe a sleeping gadget for the rich, installed near every bed. He wondered what else he was going to discover in this place.
At dawn, he was awoken by one of the male servants who stuffed his arms full of gear. The servant tapped his foot in a hurry. Zach felt the fabrics: sturdy, not a million thread count, low-end combat pieces. It had crests but overall it wasn’t excessively ornate. Finally something affordable. He asked, “Where are my other clothes at?” Referring to what he arrived in. The servant stared not comprehending. Zach couldn’t linger on it, having already resolved to never see it again.
He put on the given uniform. The servant helped with the clasps. He also showed all the pockets and usable hidden areas. “For knives?” Zach asked, mostly to himself, but the servant smiled.
When they were done, another servant handed Zach a snack; a bar of honey and peanuts. He was also given something that resembled a fig that was bright orange. They walked out of the door and through the outer court.
Zach scarfed down his bar before arriving at the destination; an open field where men sparred. Dust kicked up to the side, where horse riders gathered. Zach made the fig thing disappear too. He was used to processed; it was grating how tasty this was. So good, it was almost wrong to eat it that fast, but he wanted to be ready for the next inconvenience.
To his side, a man approached. Clanging of metals and the footsteps of an entourage. When Zach turned around, his suspicions were confirmed: it was Therron.
Zach’s servant politely nudged him to bow, and so he did. From the corner of his eye he spotted that the servant was bowing lower than him. Effort he couldn’t be assed to put forth.
Zach heard laughing from Therron followed by a jovial scramble of unknown words. Wasn’t Herran supposed to be with him? Zach’s servant lifted him up again, to face Therron. Now the servant spoke. Zach suspected this was an explanation about how he was foreign and couldn’t understand his highness.
There were more warmly spoken words from the prince, another guided bow from Zach helped by the servant, and then Therron left, having been amused enough.
He watched the prince stride along the courtyard to his own practice for as long as he could. The servant stepped in to block his view, most likely thinking the same thing Herran told him.
“Fine, I won’t do it.” He joked to himself, although secretly he found it amusing to think of ways to be successful at it. It was a game to him that he was good at, an automatic reaction that Lux instilled, to size anyone up and gain the upper hand. Plus, Zach used to have a brother, so rivalry was a pastime.
The servant guided Zach to another part of the courtyard. Dried ground that hadn’t seen rain, air not yet sweltering because it was only morning. Zach was handed a sword and took an offensive stance. The servant, at first, was confused by this, looking around at the others who were too busy to notice. Then he grabbed a wooden sword for himself to show Zach, obviously, the right way.
“What, like that?” Zach uttered, and swung at the servant, hitting him immediately, as gentle as possible. “You don’t wanna be open like that, see.”
The servant marveled. He tried swinging again, targeting weak zones, but Zach wasn’t only swift and speedy, he also knew how to dodge. There was no hitting him in a fair fight like this. “You can keep trying. I can do this all day.”
The wooden swords were small like daggers. Zach’s usual arsenal of weapons didn’t include swords — he only had knowledge from supplemental training he took a long time ago, because he wanted to be ready for anything. He knew that with larger swords the servant’s stance would’ve worked, but different weapons require different wielding. From quick observation, he saw that the people around them were better trained. This servant might’ve only had a rookie’s amount of training, combined with a genuine love for it.
“Good, good.” Herran said, watching them from the sidelines.
“Finally.” Zach stretched, releasing tension from holding back.
“Master Herran.” The servant bowed deeply, “This new guy knows the sword well, but he lacks manners, please excuse him, it’s hard to teach without words.” Zach noted his politeness despite being so openly unaware that he could now understand him.
Herran was thinking the same thing, “He can hear you now, Elkes, please mind your tongue.”
“Always, yes sir.” Elkes said, standing back up. Now he addressed Zach and bowed, “Nice to finally get to speak with you. It was an honor to spar with such a gifted warrior.”
Zach thought nothing of it, not picking up on the casual gesture. Elkes shot up after a glance from Herran. Complicated court etiquette, Zach answered him, “I’m no warrior, I’m retired if anything…”
“Retired? At your age?” Elkes looked at Herran for confirmation, who was forced to react appropriately, “Retired, Zach? In these lands, people get to retire either in death or in many successful battles, reaching old age against all odds.”
“I’m not currently in an army, am I?” Zach retorted.
Herran sighed, “You will join ours, as Corr has allowed you to teach us.”
“Is that so? I don’t remember him inviting me into his army.” Zach returned the stare he got from Herran. Conforming without an appropriate reason wasn’t in his nature.
“I believe he said ‘learn all his knowledge and then get rid of him.’ So if there is nothing to learn from you, I shall end you myself.” Herran stated. Elkes backed away, looking more than uncomfortable.
Zach thought about it. “I see how you came to the conclusion of me joining the army, then…”
Herran looked amused, his eyes smiling, “Mhm.”
“All I have to do is make sure you and no one else can accomplish that order?” Zach uttered.
Elkes stepped away more. Herran was unphased, “I’d be disappointed to see it go down that way. I vouched for you, after all, so let’s see about getting along, and maybe our army isn’t so bad after all? You get square meals, housing or tents, premium gear, and if you do retire, you get a plot of the finest land with a house built on top of it. Oh, and a wife or lady of your fancy at any given moment, should you feel inclined to expand our kingdom.”
Elkes got excited at hearing the offers. Zach imagined this was the main inducement to join the army: climb the ladder, have the government take care of you. Promises like that, to him, sounded like less-than-veiled propaganda — bribes to make you lose your sense of morality. Zach wasn’t as excited, “That’s not very alluring, I have no such needs. I can find my own shelter and food.”
“Alright. Let me be very clear. You will either be exiled and I will look out for the arrival of your family so I can kill them and let you know when I do.” Herran’s tone was more grave than matter-of-factly, “Either that, or you join this army, do whatever King Corr wants, and behave properly so I don’t have to reprimand you. We do lashings, if necessary. It’s old-school, but for you I’ll make an exception.”
“You would threaten my family…” Zach’s hand tingled, readying the wooden sword.
“I’m a strategist. Not just a mage. You’d be wise to know your place in this world here, foreigner. Don’t mistake a kind hand for one that lifts you from your meager background. You are the dirt trodden down by the feet of our golden King and prince, in pursuit of their greatness and our Kingdom’s.” The next words were scrambled to Elkes, only understandable between Zach and Herran, “The opportunity you have, to prove yourself while your life hangs in the balance, is one never given. The eye of the King is on you. Will you waste it so easily?”
Zach found it amusing enough to play along so far, but now he was being forced to commit. He knew he’d be thrown into less-than-ideal situations, being in an army. It was also true that doing things his way would put his family in danger. What he really didn’t want to do, was make Herran his enemy. He’d always had a strong gut feeling about that man — the way he fronts hides what he’s truly capable of. Dangerous. He mulled over the words before fixing his reply, “You make a good point. I’ll think about it. And I don’t want a bad start to end my career, so get me the means of communicating or I’ll hold you personally responsible for sabotaging me.”
“Fair. I’ve almost finished it. Again, please don’t rely on it. It won’t always work, because a magic item like it can be blocked or taken from you. Try to learn the languages whenever you can.” Herran told him.
“Will I also need to be able to read?” Zach asked.
Herran raised an eyebrow, “Preferably, yes.” Then continued after seeing Zach’s apprehension, “I will be sure to send tutors that will find the best way to teach you.” They reached a stalemate, or an unsteady understanding.
“Alright. I’ll listen to your king, dance if he commands it, and show your people the way I hold these stupid wooden sticks. Unless Elkes isn’t the best example of your whole army? He kinda sucks at it.”
“Yeah, he was deemed unfit. He’s stuck being a servant, but he loves being out here in his free time.” Herran informed.
“What’s wrong with him?” Zach asked, looking at Elkes who had to endure the confusion.
“We don’t talk about other people’s struggles without their permission, yes?” Herran evaded. “Go join the soldiers over there and train with them until Elkes lets you go to your house. That will be your task this morning.” Elkes seemed to understand that latter part, being allowed into the conversation again.
“Alright.” Zach said. Elkes took Zach’s wooden training sword and walked with him to the group of soldiers, ready for what they had going on.
Herran stayed around long enough for introductions. He commanded the group on today’s activities: training together, learning from Zach, assessing his skill level and reporting back to Herran later. Zach figured this was going to take longer than just the morning, and he didn’t even know if he had the same concept of morning as they did.
Matched up
Hours rushed by. Zach both watched from the sidelines and participated. Therron was there, training with his elite tutors, until he was called elsewhere. Zach noted Therron’s skill with many weapons, he had a graceful, accurate way of slashing, but lacked a powerful knockout blow. A fine opponent for a spar one day, Zach thought, to teach that highborn squirrel a lesson.
A few rugged looking guys came and surrounded Zach. Friendly training was over. They wore their battle-worn armor, full of scrapes and resmithed with pride. This was a shakedown. Zach, not easily intimidated, stayed alert and calm.
Most people were in the short to middle five feet range. Zach had to accomodate for those trainees. But these people had found someone to come up to his eye height. Burly, veiny, with scars and missing teeth. Zach assumed he was the ringleader of their clique, although no ranking symbols set him apart from the others. A quick jab. The dude tried to sneak in a gut punch with his hilt. Zach was ready for it, clenching his muscles.
“Next time try harder, cunt.” Zach spewed at the overbearing figure. He wanted to deliver a returning blow, until he saw that the other smiled. Cackling from the side, his posse bantered back and forth. Zach wasn’t privy to any of it. He stayed on high alert.
The man signaled for Zach to join him in another sparring court, so he did. He was given a choice of wooden weapons: Zach took the knives. The man that looked like a newly minted bronze statue was watching him, took knives and a sword.
The sun beamed from on high. Onlookers gathered who desperately wanted to take a break. Zach and ‘Big Lug’ stood until somebody shouted a signal and they started fighting. Zach, wanting to finish this quickly, challenged his opponent with a few offensive strikes. The other saw through this scheme. Sword blade hit knife blade in a quick reaction. Clanging. Both turned defensive, neither wanting to tire in the searing heat. Zach tried to stay in the shade of a building and tree, being naturally pale, but the large man had seen battlefields in this climate and had the sun damage to show for it in his skin. The man forced Zach out in the bright sun, although not always successfully. At this rate, with neither of them going all out, they were evenly matched. The crowd pulled in more crowd: ‘new guy’ was pulling moves, and ‘Big Lug’ having to stay on his toes was a sight to behold.
Both of them were getting exasperated, Zach more than the other. He was used to night battles and overcast days. Many, many overcast days. It occurred to him that he might’ve not seen the sun for months. His opponent saw an opportunity, swinging, but Zach, with the last of his effort, evaded, dodging most of the blow. Not giving up. In this exchange, he saw an opening and unleashed a heavy slash while the other man was backing away, getting more than a good hit. Maybe not the smartest move. Why was he showing off when everyone was watching? ‘Big Lug’ didn’t see it coming, not as sudden and inexplicable as this. How could an overcooked man on the brink of heatstroke deliver such a killing blow? The man with the build of a statue misplaced his foot, adding to the chaos of the outburst. He fell. Dust kicked up from the big thud. Zach watched him, slinking to the nearest shadow, and plopping down to rest.
He wasn’t fully aware of the crowd that erupted in cheers and hollers. He was piled on by combat attendants offering snacks and water, and some very small chunks of ice wrapped in cloth to help his predicament. He felt a little better soon after.
A presence loomed from above. Zach, despite the distracting chaos, noticed a figure standing in the castle’s higher floor looking out over the training fields. He must’ve seen everything unfold, or tried to figure out what was so spectacular that everyone forewent regular practice to watch this.
Suddenly, a hand came down towards him. The servant, Elkes, helped Zach up. ‘Big Lug’ kept an eye on him as they parted. It was only a mild hazing. Zach decided he had to keep his guard up: the way they treated him was as an outcast, not an equal. It was a good thing he could get the jump on almost anyone.
Elkes was talking his ear off excitedly in his own language. They gathered in a food court and had more fresh necessities to recover. Zach looked around, seeing that only highly-decorated soldiers had a servant by their side. Which confused him, remembering what Herran said about him being a worthless foreigner. Elkes must be breaking regulation again.
Zach risked it, privately gesturing towards themselves and another pair of a soldier and a servant, asking and emphasizing key points, “Why are you, with me? I’m not a royal. I’m nobody.” He pointed and repeated himself, rephrasing a few times until Elkes understood, looking away.
It didn’t seem that Elkes was going to leave his side at this point either way. Zach didn’t mind it. What he hadn’t noticed was that a few people joined their table and more came to join after that, until there weren’t any chairs left, only for people to pull chairs in to add themselves to the group.
Zach was not the type for crowds, keeping his guard up in the cacophony of words he didn’t recognize. He wanted to wriggle his way out, but couldn’t. Tuning it out wasn’t an option either. Now is a good a time as any, he resolved. He listened, trying to pick out repeated words, asking Elkes about them, who was kind enough to point or explain in his own way. Some concepts were too vague to get across. What he did get were words relating to food and weapons. He butchered trying to say them — according to Elkes’ expression, but that didn’t stop him from retrying until he got it right.
Everyone watched him, being the most interesting thing in the room. Some from afar, trying to get a read. Zach made note of these people who weren’t ready to step into the middle of the circle.
Zach also tried to learn names of the people around here. All he got was jumbles he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t grasp any of them since they made no sense to him.
When they were done, they returned to the house, cleaned up, redressed and awaited a tutor.
Curiosity
A few hours passed. The tutor did his best until Herran checked up on them. There was progress, slowly, and Herran was pleased enough. At least Zach wasn’t a lazy bum as well as a troublemaker.
Herran left. For the rest of the day there was dinner, more tutoring, unhelpful etiquette lessons and a few walks around the court. They explored to see more buildings, a greenhouse flower garden and the part where the castle attached to a tall wall, as if it was an area where no one was allowed, or something wasn’t allowed out. Zach asked Elkes about it, but unlike everything else, he didn’t want to talk about this thing. This made Zach all the more curious. There was a gate there, to get in, or there used to be. It was completely sealed and blocked off with heavy materials.
They made it back home and slept. Zach laying and dozing off a few times. Days of training and tutoring went by until Herran finished the magical trinket; a necklace with a short reach, only useful for conversational distances. Very limited. That’s why Herran insisted on learning despite the magic.
Herran put it on him. He had fashioned it with a dark purple stone that matched his eyes. Decoration? Zach examined it. He held it to his ear. The soft hum of energy turned to a crackle. Strange. Herran insisted that’s not necessary, his hands scurrying out to take it back.
“Is it radiation? Is this supposed to kill me slowly?” Zach asked, dodging the grabbing hands.
“I believe your concept of ‘radiation’ and mine are different, but it’s not that. If anyone were to take this necklace and try to deduct its inner workings, it will self destruct. Please refrain from any manner of investigation. Just in case.” Herran informed.
“Ah.” Zach stopped abruptly, leaving the trinket alone. “That important to ya?”
“Let’s say that, yes.” Herran said.
After this conversation, more days full of training, tutoring and learning went by before Zach was finally outfitted and assigned to other duties. He didn’t use his necklace most of the time in case it helped him learn faster, submerging himself in the language, not taking it as a shortcut.
Herran had vouched for him again. He was able to do city guard duty for a few weeks, then moved onto the gate’s night watch, some harbor patrols along the river, and eventually a position opened up in the army itself, that was based in the city, but required their own form of bootcamp.
It was at this time that a smaller, neighboring nation declared war on Corsenia, Corr’s kingdom. That was the story. Herran informed Zach that Corsenia was the true aggressor, knowing there were rich bounties in fall, and the kingdom wanting it all to herself. Another draft came up, giving Zach the chance to prove himself. More than a few weeks had passed, with no sign of his family having arrived. It was on his mind daily, and kept him motivated. He’d seen all these inner lands and didn’t find a trace of them; he was eager to go out there and keep looking.
He had more than a few indirect run-ins with Corr and Therron, from a distance, who didn’t seem bothered by his prolonged stay. Things were going well.
Huneran war – Part I
The draft changed things. People were more on edge. Families were forced to see their fathers and sons leave. To counter this, the people held state-sponsored parades and parties to see them off. Zach walked with them in the main parade, looking different than how he first popped in; buffer and more tan from his days in the sun. He was surrounded by a group of similarly lower ranked soldiers. Elkes saw them off since he was told to stay behind in the castle. Zach had made a few more acquaintances to make up for the loss. ‘Big Lug’ was further up, near the front, catching all the attention along with the retinue of royal soldiers and veterans.
Corr and Therron paraded in the front, surrounded by a wall of golden clad personal guards that seemed impenetrable.
The whole thing was a useless slog to Zach, although the people seemed to appreciate it.
When they made it through the outer gates, the crowds were told to disperse and gather at more ongoing events, to drink away their worries.
Finally, less overwhelm. Cheering made way to the rhythmic clashing of armor. Footsteps marching forward. The gates led down a wide, well-maintained stone path that was perfect for animal-drawn vehicles and an army’s foot traffic. It was going to be a long trek. Even longer after a few days, when the stone path had vanished and there were long open fields, large woods, and the occasional bridge over a stream. Luscious lands indeed. Many farms, forestries and hunting places dotted around. All owned by Corr, until Zach recognized a border stone. After that, there were no bridges, since they were all burned in anticipation of this coming army.
“They’re aware we’re coming?” Zach said in his best, still very broken Corsenic when Herran came for a visit.
“It seems we have a spy. Someone double crossed us, or our ranks are breached completely with Hunera loyalists. Corr will take care of it.” Herran said.
“Do they think it’s me?” Zach asked.
“Of course not.” Herran said, but Zach kept looking at him. He continued, “You were supervised appropriately and nothing you did was suspicious.”
“Elkes was spying on me?” Zach presumed.
“Not necessarily. He liked being around you, and he’s easy to read. Most of your time with him was a good assessment of your overall activities.” Herran said.
“I’m always watched, huh. More than anyone here.” Zach concluded.
“Like I said before: we gave you this great opportunity, and you’re still alive. Look at you go.” Herran spoke with a joking bite. Zach had to dig through the expressions and idioms, but understood Herran’s intention. They were well acquainted at this point, enough to know that jokes were jokes. Mutual suspicions still lingered, but a good and steady relationship to have, all things considered.
When Herran left, it was already late. The camp settled and everyone, including Zach, helped set up the tents. Efficiently and organized. Because of his disposition, he was a guard for the night on most nights, which he enjoyed so far. Now, being in enemy territory, serene times under moonlight might’ve been a thing of the past.
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