Erden
Year 1348 (Thirty Years Prior to Present Day)
He knew not where they were headed. Crucial as his role of quartermaster was, the destination of the company was information of which he was not privy. More unfortunate was that his position had not earned him a horse, and so he marched on foot along with the majority of the company. With each step he took, he flipped the vial in his hand end over end, in an unceasing cycle.
The first few days had been the hardest, with the intense heat and sun of the region beating down on him, and making it clear that he was the least fit out of the nearly two hundred men, the only one who needed to stop every quarter bell to put his hands on his knees and breathe deep from the scorched air. This occurred so frequently that the embarrassment he felt during the first few incidents quickly evaporated, the judgmental glances and chortling of his companions no longer bothering him.
They were traveling east, that much he knew. By the fourth day, the landscape had shifted slightly, and the hilly terrain made way for vast expanses which made him feel as though he were lost in a sea of brown grass, yet the ground was habitable, and villages had begun to appear again along the roadside now that they were nearing one hundred miles from the capital.
Ever since he was young boy, Erden had been fond of maps, and when they neared a water source he believed to be Crackle River, the map in his head suggested they were close to Agaveton. A rest in the city would be welcome, but that hope was crushed as they left the main road and headed further east.
At night, when he had completed his work of distributing supplies and checking inventory, if he did not fall asleep immediately, he sat at different campfires and listened to the soldiers share stories, laugh about old times, and most of all, speculate on the future.
Erden was on his haunches, a few paces back from the others, deliberating whether he should move closer to the fire, or if that would deter the men from speaking openly. He was the newest member of the company, and unlike the others, had not been through training. The uniform he wore identified him as a military man, but it was the only aspect of him which spoke to that role, and he well knew the other soldiers did not see him as one of the group. And so he sat as a true outsider, and contemplated the discussions without adding a word.
“A five-thousand-man army,” a scarred veteran named Detvin said, leaning back after tending to the fire.
“Horseshit,” a spindly scout named Parlough, replied. “We just killed a thousand of them. How’s it that they have more than before?”
“Could be coming in from East Saltion. True believers looking for a cause to die for,” the man on Detvin’s right said.
Detvin nodded vigorously. “Could be. Or maybe mercenaries from Kinorick. Wanting revenge.”
“Or your sources don’t know nothin’, which is more likely,” Parlough scoffed.
“I hear things from Sour, and he’s been close to Sarthak since forever,” Detvin said, as if the comment would end the conversation.
“Sour’s always making it out to be worse than it is. Been saying for years that he’s dying of a bad heart that only acts up when he eats too fast.”
“Five thousand… it can’t be,” another man said, shaking his head.
“What if they’ve become reinvigorated by the losses?” Erden said, unable to keep the comment in his mind. “I read Vision when I was a boy, before it was outlawed. The Path spread because its followers were persecuted, not in spite of it.”
All the men around the fire were staring at him. Parlough looked as though he wanted to dismiss what Erden had said, but was holding back out of curiosity.
“I don’t want to say this war is futile, but it could be having the opposite of its intended effect. How many people who walk The Path are there in Vinredor? Seems like more than I remember before the religion was banned. We certainly hear about it more now, even though it’s illegal to practice.”
“You’re saying we’re helping the enemy?” Detvin said.
“Not intentionally. But it makes some sense, doesn’t it?”
Parlough stood up then. “You should go back to your books,” he said, reaching for a knife on his belt. “We lost a lot of friends fighting this war. Men with a lot more courage than you.”
“I didn’t mean offense,” Erden said as he stood up and began to step backwards.
“He’s not worth it, Parlough,” Detvin said. “Spent too much time with books, and not enough in the real world. Don’t risk your own head doing something stupid.”
The scout sheathed the blade, but kept his eyes on Erden. “Watch your back in the heat of battle. Oh, but you’ll be back by the wagons, won’t you? Then watch your back as you sleep. Accidents have been known to happen.”
Erden laid on top of a row of water barrels in one of the covered wagons that night, unable to fall sleep out of fear that Parlough was not simply posturing. It was nearly unfathomable how poorly his first attempt at ingratiating himself into the company had gone. Yet he was determined to try again. There were no heroes of epic tales who were social outcasts. They were beacons of hope for others. If he could find an in with even one soldier, he knew he could win over the others in time.
They marched through a deluge the next day, making little progress as wagon wheels became buried in mud. Officers organized the men into teams to push and pull the transports onto solid ground, the efforts leaving the men covered in grime and the wagons still stuck in place. Men groaned that there were plenty of vigor tonics in the wagons, and the injustice of the situation, but Sarthak had refused to use them. Knowing how expensive the tonics were, Erden saw the sense of that, though he did not see how they would be able to get the wagons unstuck without their unnatural aide.
He was leaning against a rope, his hands raw and bleeding, resorting to covering them with his shirt, and feigning effort, as water beat down on his already soaked head of hair. His mind lost in the mists, dulled by the physical demands which had pushed him past where he believed possible, he slowly became aware of a chant breaking out around him. It took a moment for him to focus his mind enough to make out the words, but when a wagon rolled past him, moving faster than he could believe, he began to hear it clear. “Ab-ra-HAM, Ab-ra-HAM, Ab-ra-HAM.”
He wiped the rain from his face to clear his view long enough to see the lean swordsman in the middle of a pack of soldiers, pulling the wagon onward, his eyes showing a determination which made Erden shake. By no means the biggest or the strongest man in the company, Abraham nevertheless led the procession, a step ahead of the other men. All around, soldiers and officers now, too, carried on the chant. Erden watched as Kingsley bellowed out the words, louder than anyone else, and Sarthak watched in silent awe.
That man, Erden thought as he looked back at Abraham’s wake, it is as though he stepped out of a story and into reality. I must learn from him.
The company moved slowly the next day as well, with supplies having to be shifted and wagon wheels and axels needing repair. Once they were back on the march, Erden went looking for Abraham.
It was the first time he had moved from his usual position near the wagons at the back of the column, just in front of the rear guard. The line of soldiers, wagons, and extra horses stretched for half a mile, and Erden had to walk most of it to find the man he was looking for.
Abraham walked alone, the other men giving him a wide berth. As he approached the swordsman, Erden felt eyes on his back, making him consider waiting for another time. But passing by Abraham seemed impossible, even sacrilegious, and falling back in line behind him was even more uncomfortable, so Erden continued on until he was but two paces back.
The sun above felt as though it was but a few feet from his head. From behind him, he believed he could hear snickers, and he had no trouble imagining the soldiers shaking their heads at their pathetic new member. The man in front of him had not adjusted his stride, or given any indication that he was aware of his presence, but Erden’s footfalls were loud enough to give him away. The two men continued on without words for some time, until, feeling exhausted by the heat, Erden nearly tripped over his own feet, falling to one knee.
Cursing, he stood up to see Abraham looking back at him. “Are you alright, Quartermaster?”
“I’m fine,” Erden said, wiping dust from his trousers.
“A drink?” Abraham asked, holding out a waterskin.
“I have some, thank you.”
The swordsman nodded and went back to marching.
“Abraham,” Erden said, the word coming out louder than he had planned.
A raised eyebrow. “Yes?”
“May I… speak with you?”
“You may.”
Erden ran forward so that the two men were walking in step. Now less than a foot away from Abraham, Erden could sense the man’s strength. Though not overtly muscular, and only slightly taller than him, Erden felt small in his presence.
“The sun is intense today,” Erden said.
When no reply came forth, he attempted a shift in the conversation. “You aren’t with the other officers.”
“I am not an officer,” Abraham said.
“My apologies… I didn’t know.”
“No reason to apologize.”
“I just assumed, as you’re the greatest swordfighter... It’s what I hear, I mean to say.”
“I can take lives. That does not mean I can lead men.”
This is not going well.
“They say Sarthak has great skill with a blade as well.”
“He does.”
“Is it innate? Skill with a blade, I mean. Or, do you believe any man can become proficient?”
For the first time, Abraham’s pace slowed. “I have taught men to fight with swords,” he said. “But they were eager to learn. Were it otherwise, I am not sure I would have found success. Though I suspect it is likewise with any endeavor.”
“Motivation can be a powerful tool,” Erden said.
“That’s the way of it.”
A horn blew twice from the front of the column, dragging Erden back to the present. He looked around as men began halting. Confused, and becoming frightened, he looked to Abraham. “We’ve met up with them,” the swordsman said.
“With whom?”
“The 10th Battalion.”
Sarthak called for him that night, after he had taken the evening’s inventory. When he reached the officers, he considered his earlier conversation with Abraham. It occurred to him now that the swordsman had not been present during the negotiations with Enfildio, either. That the world’s greatest living warrior was not part of every company decision baffled him, but then again, what did Erden know of the ways of the military? Ironically, the company’s most inept fighter was here now, amongst the officers of the 10th.
Sarthak silently acknowledged him as Erden came within listening distance of the conversation which was already underway.
“The Herald is within,” Marshal Jouse said. “Our spies have confirmed that. We caught them in transit, but due to your late arrival, they were able to commandeer Desert’s Watch.”
“Were your earlier estimates accurate?” Sarthak asked, giving no response to the slight.
“They were. Only fifty armed men, including her bodyguard. The main force is on its way to Tides. The city guard has been ordered to stand down, so that it does not appear to be an invasion. They are expecting reinforcements, though we are not sure from where or how many. What we do know is that the leaders of their army believe the men which are set to arrive in Tides will give them enough of an advantage to defeat us. What they did not anticipate was that we had tracked The Herald here with this smaller force. The Divine King believes that once The Herald is captured, the movement will fall apart due to infighting. I agree with his assessment, and so we look to end this farce today.”
“What is she doing out here so far from the city?” Kingsley asked. It was a question Erden had been pondering as well.
“She went into the desert, for what reason, we do not know. Even our spies have heard nothing. We do know they separated so that they did not have to support such a large contingent of men through a land with no water. At one point, The Herald broke off from her bodyguards for two days, then returned to the others. As far as we know, she has not spoken of what she did during the time she was alone.”
“It strikes me now that we know very little of this religion, despite its growing popularity and its long history in East Saltion,” Sarthak said.
Marshal Jouse gave him a look of contempt. “The beliefs of heretics are irrelevant. The Herald’s misguided adventure was a tactical error for which she will end up paying for with her life.”
As Jouse spoke, Sarthak nodded politely. Kingsley stood with his arms crossed, while the other officers of the 10th Battalion were grouped behind the marshal, watching the officers of The Blades’ every mannerism.
“We will make our assault at the 21st bell. The 10th will surround the fortress to prevent any escape and provide missile fire while the 26th scales the walls under the cover of night. I wish for this to be done with before the morrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Sarthak said with a salute. Erden watched as Marshal Jouse and the other officers of the 10th Battalion returned to their camp. When they were out of earshot, Kingsley spoke.
“Five hundred of the bastards, and they stand back while we risk our hides.”
“Well, someone needs to have the glory of capturing The Herald when she attempts to flee,” Sarthak said.
“Why do we not have the full army here and crush the rebellion outright?” Erden asked.
“Because the Divine King does not wish to legitimize them, nor does he wish to panic the citizenry. He wants to avoid an open war. Marshal Jouse is indeed a bastard, but he is a clever one, and this is the perfect opportunity to end this uprising so that it can be cast aside and forgotten.
Now, Quartermaster, as you heard, we are to climb up the walls of that old fortress, which means we will have the need for ladders, and we do not have the time to fell trees. We have spare wood, correct?”
“Yes, sir. We have half a wagon bed lined with boards.”
“Kingsley doubted me when I granted you this position, but I see my faith was well-placed.”
“You told me yourself to prepare for a possible siege.”
“And you listened. Not everyone is capable of doing that, though we removed those people from this company. I believe they’re in the 10th now. Regardless, it is time to get to work, Quartermaster. Our lives are in your hands.”
Why did he have to say that?
Wow!