Erden
Year 1348 (Thirty Years Prior to Present Day)
He was awakened by a kick to his side. Erden looked up to see Kingsley staring down at him, another manic grin on his face. “Good morning, dear,” he said. “The captain wants to speak with you.”
The sun was beginning to make its ascent and there was much movement in the camp. Erden realized he had slept through the entire offensive, but what did it matter? Once the assault had begun, his job was completed, and he must have done it well enough, for he heard men laughing and saw them slapping each other on the back while giving congratulations.
Sarthak sat atop a horse, a woman in a hooded cape of white cloth at his side, her arms bound by rope, the hood folded back to show a mask of deep blue, highlighted by silver swirls. When Sarthak spotted him, he tossed him a small leather bag. Erden bumbled the catch and bent over to retrieve the bag as Kingsley laughed behind him.
“I would like for you to examine the contents of that bag,” Sarthak told him.
Reaching in, he felt a number of small, vaguely circular objects. He pulled them out and examined them by the torch which Kingsley carried. The objects were shells, beige in color with ridged edges.
“Pardon me for stating the obvious, but they’re shells,” Erden said, unclear if he was being set up for another jest.
“Do you have any sense of whether they are unique in any way? As far as I and anyone else can tell, they are as you say, shells. But this is what The Herald brought back from the Crystal Desert. Take a closer look, Quartermaster.”
Erden did his best to inspect the shells from every angle. He rubbed his fingers and looked for residue. He scratched their surfaces with his fingernails. There was nothing but a small amount of white powder which had no special smell. “I’m afraid I am unable to find anything noteworthy, though I am not an expert in shells…”
“I assumed you were not,” Sarthak said. “I only thought you may have a different perspective, or had seen or heard of them in some book.” He turned then to the woman by his side. “You were captured because of these; you do realize that?”
She did not flinch, her body facing straight ahead. If the woman’s expression changed, it was impossible to tell from behind the mask she wore. “I do not know if you are familiar with us, but we do not torture our prisoners. Unfortunately for you, we have to hand you over to a man who is far less empathetic, and he will do whatever he needs to acquire the information he desires,” Sarthak said. “In all fairness, you will be executed either way, and your body will be tossed into the sea, but in my experience, there are fates far worse than that.”
“They are shells,” the woman said. “That is all I know.”
“What else did you bring back from the desert?”
“Nothing else.”
“Then why did you risk your life for these shells?”
“Because I was told to do so.”
“For what purpose?”
“I do not question my orders.”
Sarthak grunted. “Yes, the superiors ever detest explaining themselves. Who gave you this order?”
“A messenger.”
“Thank you for the enlightening answer. A messenger from whom?”
“The Hero.”
A silence encompassed the area, and for quite some time, no one spoke or moved.
A man blessed by the gods whose believers say will unite the world. A man who they claim has been alive for thousands of years, but who no living person has seen. Certain fiction.
“He should have fetched the shells himself,” Kingsley said, breaking the silence.
The Herald did not respond to that, and though Erden thought her to be gullible, he was impressed by her hardness. The woman had not sounded the least bit afraid. She has written herself into the story of her faith, becoming a principal character. As I wish to do.
“Is there more you can tell us?” Sarthak asked her, “before we bring you to Marshal Jouse?”
She gave no reaction, though whether out of defiance, or due to a lack of additional knowledge, Erden did not know. He had not had to take a life, or even fight in the assault, and he knew he was not ready for the reality of war, now that he saw what it was to see someone in their last moments.
“Very well,” Sarthak said, kicking his horse into a gentle walk, the Herald following at his side. As Erden watched them as they faded into the mess of camp fires and bustling soldiers, he was glad that for once, Kingsley had nothing to say.
Knowing well enough that he would be asked to do so eventually, and that while his mind was too active to sleep, it would be best to finish the work now, Erden began taking inventory of the company’s supplies. No one had been polite enough to carry the ladders back, so he marked the boards as nil, and cursed the fact that he would likely be the one to disassemble them and put the wood back on the wagons. The soldiers took materiel haphazardly, and it took a great amount of effort to identify and count everything, especially in the crowded and dark rear of a wagon. He was attempting to measure the contents of a barrel when shouts exploded from the camp.
The cries of war horns rang out, and everywhere men looked about in confusion. Erden watched as a path began to form, soldiers moving to either side in haste. A line of mounted men galloped through the cleared space, and Erden saw Sarthak among them. A score of riders. All Blades. Why are they riding out of the camp at such great speed?
He went looking for someone who might know what was happening, and came across Kingsley. The lieutenant was calmly delivering orders to a half dozen men. “I don’t care how many men of the 10th are with them, I want two of us with each of the prisoners during transportation.” The men saluted and went off in separate directions.
“What is going on?” Erden asked.
“The Herald has escaped. It appears that Marshal Jouse’s interrogation will have to await her recapture.”
“The captain rode out after her?”
“He did. Which makes me the company’s ranking officer.” Erden could tell the lieutenant was looking for a reaction, and so he did his best to leave him disappointed.
“We’re to secure Desert’s Watch until they return,” Kingsley added after some time. “You are to inventory the supplies we find. I assume you can do that on your own, yes? Let’s get to it, then.”
Erden watched as Kingsley called for a horse, mounted up, and rode out toward the castle. Bemused and hazy from the quick turn of events, Erden’s mind was additionally struggling with a lingering feeling of disquiet regarding the riders who had just left the camp. There was something strange about the group, but he could not figure out what it was.
A few bells later, Erden had completed the task of loading the wagons and walked along with the rear guard toward the fortress. Desert’s Watch was an old castle which had not been formally occupied for hundreds of years. Its appearance spoke to that, the relatively short outer wall crusted with lichen, and the stones of the single high tower crumbled so that less than half of them remained standing. He recalled having read in one of his history lessons that it was one of the oldest fortresses in the world, and it must have been, for there was no reason for it to exist out here in the center of Vinredorian territory. The view from the top of the once proud tower would have been magnificent however, and one would have been able to see for miles into the Crystal Desert, though not far enough to see the fabled crystals for which the land was named.
The last of the soldiers passed through the gate, still leaving the ladders beyond, and Erden watched as men stabled horses and went off in different directions for purposes he could not surmise. The entire force of The Blades, save the score of men who had ridden out to find The Herald, appeared to be occupied, or good at feigning it. Too bashful to ask for assistance, Erden lit a torch and decided to begin his search for leftover supplies by checking if there was storage space in the cellar.
After a brief and fruitless search, he emerged back into the light of the courtyard. It was clear now that the 10th would not be joining The Blades in Desert’s Watch, a realization of which Erden was thankful. The castle was too small for close to seven hundred men, and the tensions were high enough without accusations and blame being thrown about regarding the escape of the most important prisoner. The days of marching, and the multiple bells of time spent hauling gear and foodstuffs had left Erden exhausted. Not seeing Kingsley, he thought for a moment about finding a place to sleep, only to recover his strength, of course. He made his way back to the wagons when he heard Kingsley’s voice calling out to him, the lone unoccupied man.
“All done, Quartermaster?”
With a long sigh, Erden turned to acknowledge the lieutenant. “Not quite, sir.”
“Did the rebels leave supplies in our wagons?”
“I would doubt it highly.”
“Then get your arse headed in the right direction. I want a full report on everything you find before the next bell, which could be soon, as I have no idea of the time.”
Erden could not even manage a nod, much less a salute.
In the end, there was not much of use left in the castle, seeing as how the company was too well supplied to be desperate enough to eat moldy food. When Erden handed his report to Kingsley, the man looked at it blankly. “Well, what does this damn thing say?”
“There are some decrepit chunks of what might have been bread, some frayed rope, a few cloths stained with dried blood. But there are also two bookshelves. It looked like there were some interesting titles.”
“Interesting how?” Kingsley asked.
“I saw a book of maps of East Saltion, and diaries dating back at least two hundred years.”
“Ah,” Kingsley said, nodding. “So, interesting in that you would enjoy reading them. Not interesting in having any practical use for the military in which you are employed.”
Erden thought for a moment and came to the conclusion that any reply he gave would only make the matter worse.
“Very well,” the lieutenant said, tossing the report onto the ground. You are dismissed. But don’t go hiding in the wagons. Yes, I may not be literate, but I’m still smarter than you.”
When Erden was sure Kingsley was too busy playing cards and drinking to look for him, Erden disappeared to the opposite end of the castle. He was greatly looking forward to sleeping in a bed, albeit one without sheets, for the first time in weeks. However, the exhaustion he felt was at war with the nagging disquiet which continued to circulate through his mind. He chose to focus on something outside of his immediate circumstances- Cupela.
Had she won Enfildio’s heart, or did he continue to exploit her idolization of him? Though it was with him at all times, he rarely set his eyes upon the glass vial which had belonged to her. He stared at it now, unsure whether the object was a gift or a curse. He wished to be rid of his affection for her. It had become an unpleasant part of his psyche, one that made him feel almost nauseous.
His mind this day was a co-conspirator, egging his feelings onward. It brought him back now to the days when he and Cupela had spent so much of their time together. How could he not have admitted to himself that he wanted her to be more than a friend. Or, had his attraction only developed once she had made her presence scare? The more he dwelled on it, the more his desire for her grew. It was some time before he was able to concentrate on anything else.
He thought back to the events of earlier in the day, and how something had been amiss when the riders left the camp. He replayed the vision in his mind, looking at the faces of the men as they galloped past him. And then it finally came to him. It simply did not make sense. They left Abraham.
When he woke the next day, he learned that Sarthak and the other riders had still not returned. Meanwhile, the 10th had moved out toward Tides with orders that The Blades follow as soon as The Herald was recaptured.
A number of men were playing Factions on the floor of the dormitory, while Erden laid in bed and listened. “Marshal Jouse is thinking The Herald’s gone for good,” Detvin said. “He’ll be moving on the main force, and this’ll end up exploding into a true war.”
“Sarthak will catch her,” the muscular Roliher said.
“He would if things was fair, but they ain’t. The damn walkers on The Path are all over the 10th, and they snuck her somewhere safe.”
“He’ll sniff them out,” Roliher said in quick response.
“I like your faith, lad, but we’re headed for an all-out war. The rebels ain’t waiting at Tides to take in the fresh air. They’re bringing in more soldiers. You think they’re gonna sail all the way here just to turn around? Marshal Jouse knows it as well as I do. Every day we don’t have that woman, we’re a day closer to the land running red.”
Erden feared that the old veteran was right. Jouse had said the rebellion would be crushed if they captured The Herald, but if she escaped, it only added to her allure. Wanting to escape himself, Erden left the room and went out into the courtyard.
As he walked, he recalled the promise he had made to himself the night before. The clarity of morning made it seem foolish, and now was certainly not the time, with Sarthak gone and the company waiting without knowing what would happen next. Perhaps when life is more settled.
He found the stoic man alone on the north side of the courtyard, hidden from the rest of the area by a partially dilapidated wall. Abraham helped to keep the other soldiers in shape with daily trainings, but those ended by late morning, and Erden did not think the order had even been given that day. Yet here he was, working over different sequences of movements in silence. Erden stood for a time to watch him, hoping to see some of the brilliance he had witnessed that first day he joined the company, but the actions of the man were mostly mundane cuts to either side, followed by shifts in his stance. Confused, Erden changed his vantage point and moved closer. It was then he saw that Abraham’s eyes were closed. He watched for a bit longer, becoming more impressed by the control the man wielded over his blade. Erden had learned how heavy a sword could be, and the two-handed blade Abraham employed was longer and wider than any of weapons used by the other Blades. He continued watching, increasingly mystified, until Abraham, his eyes still closed, spoke.
“Care to join me?”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
Abraham opened his eyes and gave a slight grin. “It helps to work with others,” he said before sheathing his blade on his back and walking over to a weapon rack. He chose a bastard sword without hesitation and passed it over to Erden.
“There are practice swords…” Erden said, barely loud enough to be heard.
“We won’t be dueling. Hold that out and feel its weight.”
Erden did so. He hoped this was not a test of some type, as he knew definitively that he could not hold the blade straight out for more than a few minutes, even with both hands.
While he stood holding the sword, Abraham went back to the weapon rack and retrieved a sword belt. “Hold it as long as you can,” he said. Erden closed his eyes and strained against the weight of the blade, perhaps granting him another twenty heartbeats. Then, arms shaking, he let the blade down. Abraham handed him the sword belt. “It’s best to be accustomed to what you’ll be wearing in an actual battle, especially for something that will feel encumbering at first.”
As Erden attached the sword belt, Abraham looked him over. “It’s a good fit. Let’s practice sheathing and removing the blade.”
The training began that simply, much to Erden’s relief. Abraham gave him short, clear directions and he followed them as best as he could. His actions were never accompanied by criticisms, or praise for that matter, but Abraham worked with him without complaint when he stumbled or did something foolish, which Erden thought was quite often.
He went back the next day as well, now relieved to have something on his mind other than Sarthak’s absence and his own inadequacy. Again, Abraham was alone, but willing to halt his own training to work with the inexperienced quartermaster. They did not share many words, but Erden was grateful for the time and attention the great swordsman gave him.
Abraham was circling him, Erden working to keep the man directly in front of him when a horn blew twice from the top level of the castle, signaling an approaching rider. Erden’s attention was stolen briefly, but Abraham urged him to focus, and so he did, not thinking more of what was happening outside of the training grounds. Until Kingsley sent for him.
“A local man brought this in,” Kingsley said, handing Erden a blood-spattered piece of white cloth. “He says it’s from our captain. What does it say?”
Black words were written sloppily in what appeared to be coal. Erden had to adjust the folds of the cloth and imagine what some of the letters which had gone missing would have been, but he was able to make out the message. Ambushed. Trapped inside a hamlet southeast of you. Sarthak. Erden’s hands began to shake.
Kingsley grabbed him by the collar of his sweaty shirt. “What does it say, dammit?”
“They were ambushed. They’re trapped in a hamlet southeast of here. Sarthak signed it.”
“Could it be a trap?”
“How would I know?”
“Fair enough. Either way, Sarthak is in trouble.”
The men assembled quickly. The remaining horses were mounted, and the riders were complimented by a force of forty men on foot. Erden was left behind with the four soldiers who had been injured in the assault on Desert’s Watch. He watched the fighting men leave the castle, feeling completely impotent.
A desire for excitement had brought him to where he was, yet at that moment, he felt no closer to adventure than he had working among books. What did I expect when I signed on as quartermaster? I suppose I wasn’t thinking clearly. Well, if I’ve left the only home I’ve ever known and traveled hundreds of miles, I should take the last step and dedicate myself to becoming a real soldier. I may be years behind where I should be at my age, but I have an advantage most would kill for. I am able to train with the greatest swordsman the world has ever known.
Feeling invigorated, but without many manners in which he could apply his energy, Erden went up to the top level of the castle, where he had found the small collection of reading material. He leafed through the diaries first. The pages had obvious water damage, making it difficult to read. The parts that he could make out were actually more a list of places and dates than a typical diary. The author seemingly did not have the time or impetus to record his thoughts.
The maps were more to his liking. They were older than he had thought upon his brief inspection early. Their age could be seen in the wear the paper had suffered, as well as in how so many of the names of places had changed over time. The neighboring country to the east was in a near constant state of fluctuation, and Erden made a game of seeing how often a particular tract of land switched hands. He had begun to enjoy himself when the blast of a horn tore him away from his distraction. They’ve returned.
Erden made haste to the courtyard, eager for reassurance that the men he depended on were safe.
Soldiers were already through the gate, some carrying bodies on stretchers made of fallen branches and tarp. There were many wounded, or dead. Erden did not feel like approaching to find out. He looked around until he saw Kingsley. The lieutenant was helping Sarthak down from his horse. The captain’s right thigh was covered in a bloody bandage. Kingsley supported him as he walked past Erden without looking up, a grimace of pain on his face.
As the last soldiers made their way in, Erden spotted Abraham. His long cloth shirt and leather pants were covered in blood, but he himself had suffered no injuries. As he walked, other soldiers approached him and thanked him, patting him on the back or embracing him. Each time, Abraham barely acknowledged their presence, his gaze remaining in front of him, his expression neutral.
Erden wished to speak with him, but decided perhaps it was not the time. Instead, he located one of the younger soldiers and once he made eye contact, walked over to him.
“What happened?” Erden asked before the man could walk away.
“The Herald led them into an ambush of Rebels hiding in a small town. Must have been at least six dozen. Sarthak got a message out to a local man before they got trapped. When we got there, the captain was holding the door alone. Would have been a tough fight for the rest of us, except we had Abraham. He cut right through them when he saw Sarthak had been wounded. Fought like a demon. Must’ve killed twenty of them himself.”
“How many men did we lose?”
The young man looked away. “Those that rode out at first? Only Sarthak’s left now.”
“That’s nearly a fifth of our men.”
“If you say so. Never was good with numbers.”
Wishing to do something, anything to feel of use, Erden began helping with the horses. While he lifted feed and brushed down the animals, he thought on the career path he had chosen. Passing his time around people who could be laughing at one moment, and then gone the next day, without ever having said farewell or made the proper efforts to be prepared, felt like living on the edge of madness. He was ashamed of his own naivety at having been so surprised to witness corpses at such close range. Some of those bodies belonged to people whose names he knew. Even if they were not his friends, he felt a connection to them. Now they were gone and the fact that he never learned about who each of them was as a person increased the guilt which was boiling over in his gut. The reality of war was a weight that threatened to crush him.
The healers told Sarthak he should rest for three to four weeks while his wound healed. He chose to ignore that advice. The very next day, he had the soldiers of The Blades gather in the courtyard, and addressed them from the second level of the castle, leaning heavily against a makeshift wooden crutch.
“We have underestimated the enemy,” he said, his voice weak but able to reach the ears of all the men over the sad silence of the gray morning. “They have more sympathizers than we had believed, and they have more wealth than we had imagined. I know this, for I know who their army was awaiting in Tides. Who, by now, has arrived. The True Brothers.”
Although the silence was unchanged, Erden could sense the impact that revelation made amongst the soldiers of The Blades.
“We will mobilize today, to put an end to this threat. With their newfound force, the rebels will be marching toward Oslidor. They mean to take Sunset unprepared. As before, we will be the tip of the blade which this nation thrusts in defense.”
If they are coming from Tides, they will reach Sunset before we can. The city built above hills rich with gold veins was ever a hotbed of dissent in the nation, the wealthy merchants having seen Withigan’s secession from Ebanigan as a template for their own independence. It was possible the rebels would find sympathetic ears there.
As though Sarthak read Erden’s thoughts, and those of the others, he addressed their concerns. “Sunset is not prepared for an assault, but we are. We have purchased tonics which will allow us to travel at an unprecedented speed. We will reach the rebels before they arrive at the city, and we will take them by surprise. We will save this nation before its citizens are even aware of the grave danger they are in. We move in two bell’s time.”
So well written, and the characters are engaging and fascinating.