by Guy Antibes
“Leave the bodies but take the horses back to our camp. We might find them fighting mounted men,” Trevor said.
He led them double time, knowing that their column would be spread out by the time he reached camp. Trevor heard fighting, and when he broke into the clearing, Boxster was on his horse fighting two mounted attackers. Dead soldiers and enemies sprawled on the ground, and the hiss of an arrow dropped another attacker. Liftson had joined the attack.
Trevor wished he had his helmet on, but there was no time to find it as he began to cut into the legs of the attackers, dodging down-swinging blades. A rock knocked another attacker out of his saddle. By the time Trevor reached him, the man stood holding his sword, blood streaming down his face.
“The prince is here!” the man said. “Kill him so we can escape!”
Trevor didn’t recognize him, but he quickly closed. There weren’t many left to escape as Boxster slew the last mounted rider. That left the man who knew Trevor still standing, staring at Trevor. His eyes shifted around the camp.
“Do you want to die?” Trevor asked. “If you know who I am, you know I won the sword competition at the Summer Tourney.”
“I can defeat you.”
Trevor shook his head. “No, you can’t. The jousting champion is at my side. If you value your life, tell us who sent you.”
The man looked around at the soldiers circling him. “I can’t. It will mean my wife and family.”
“He lies,” Washkin said. “He has been hanging around the garrison with Pillar.”
“Are there more of you in the forest?”
The man rushed Trevor, but Boxster stepped in front of the prince and put a quick end to the charge. The assassins were finished. Two of them were alive, but they had been hired in Red Forest town.
Washkin ended both of their lives. “That is for killing my men,” he said.
“Straighten out the camp. Keep the horses for our men’s corpses. We will proceed to the closest road that will take us to the garrison. Our expedition is over unless there are more attackers in the forest.”
“I didn’t see any others with Pillar.”
“We will still have to be careful,” Trevor said. He knew he had reached his limit. “Sergeant Boxster will supervise cleaning up the camp. I will see to my wounds.”
Trevor entered his tent that had been erected before the brigands were discovered. He hadn’t suffered any cuts that required stitches and fell asleep on his blankets. He woke the next day just as dawn reached the clearing. There was a row of soldiers’ bodies and a mound of dirt that covered the attackers.
Trevor stood, staring at the carnage. He had fought for his life twice during the night and emerged alive. Six soldiers had died during the mounted raid on their camp, which added to the one killed at the attackers’ clearing. Trevor didn’t feel exhilarated as he had after defeating the assassins in the castle.
He wasn’t ready to throw his sword into the bushes, but Trevor knew he’d never approach his duties as an army officer so casually again.
“Not a pleasant sight,” Boxster said from behind, making Trevor jump.
“You scared me!”
“Prince Trevor Arcwin wasn’t very scared last night,” Boxster said.
“That was different. I was fighting for my life, as were those soldiers over there,” Trevor said. He pointed to the six bodies who died in the skirmish at the camp.
“It does put a different light on things. Are you feeling all right?” Boxster said.
“Probably not. I’m not used to the aftermath of a battle.”
“It’s not something easily ignored,” Boxster said, “but you get numb after a while. I’m numb, and yet I still feel regret and a little pain at the loss. I’m always glad I’m not lying over there.”
Trevor followed Boxster’s eyes back to the fallen soldiers as the camp began to stir.
Liftson walked up. “Permission to retrieve our man at the enemy camp. May we ride the horses?”
“You can if you bury the dead attackers. If you can stand it, look in their pockets—”
Boxster put his hand on Trevor’s wrist. “I’ll go with them and do the investigating, sir,” he said.
Trevor nodded. “Please do. I’ll find someone else to cook breakfast.”
“Arbor is the one to do it,” Liftson said as he mounted a horse.
There weren’t many soldiers in camp. He had lost almost a whole squad. They hadn’t deserved to die, but Trevor had known and told them that they would face danger on the way. It wasn’t the comfort that he sought, but it made walking around the camp easier.
Chapter Eleven
~
“P illar was behind it, General,” Trevor said.
He gave the incriminating note to the garrison’s commanding officer.
“You know I can’t do anything to him,” Greenwood said.
“Why not? He caused the deaths of seven soldiers. They didn’t have to die, and the assassins didn’t have to either. What about Pillar?”
“He has left the garrison,” General Greenwood said. Trevor was about to object again, but Greenwood held up his hand. “You defeated the assassins. I’d consider that payback enough. See to your men. I will have replacements for your company and another assignment ready in five days.”
Trevor didn’t see anything more he could do. He had no one to notify in Tarviston other than Brother Yvan, and he had no power in the capital. After the events of his expedition, he had never felt so alone in his life.
After he told Boxster about the meeting, the master sergeant said, “Why don’t you and I go into Red Forest this evening for a diversion. The master soldiers aren’t able to leave the garrison without a pass, but I can if I’m accompanying you.”
“Am I a way of getting you to a pub?” Trevor asked.
“Partially, but I think we need to talk about what is going to happen moving forward.”
Trevor agreed, and after notifying someone in the general’s office that they were going into Red Forest town, the pair donned civilian clothes, mounted up, and rode out the gate. They would arrive in daylight and return after dark, Trevor guessed.
He had expected a sizeable sleepy village, but they passed five mills on the way in that alternated on each side of a small but fast-moving river. The craftsman section of the town was on the garrison side, so they passed all kinds of sounds and smells before they reached the residential part of the town. Then it was more typical with the quality of the houses increasing as they moved closer to the city center. Before they reached the town square, Boxster noted some reasonably full pubs.
“You don’t want to go to an empty place. Something is scaring off the clientele: bad food, bad liquor, bad service, or bad customers,” Boxster said.
Four inns and administrative buildings encircled the town’s square. It wasn’t a market day, so they turned around and found a suitable pub for the way they were dressed. The clientele wasn’t noble, but there were people who could be merchants or town functionaries enjoying themselves. There were few who Trevor would consider being riffraff.
“You can take the table over there,” the barman said to Boxster as they walked in.
Boxster nodded, and they walked through other tables to theirs. A long bench along most of the wall served as seating for one side of the tables. Boxster didn’t ask and took that seat, looking out at the crowd. Trevor didn’t face him because he wanted to look at everyone as well.
“Beer or ale?” a serving woman asked them.
“Ale for both of us,” Boxster said. “What do you have to eat?”
“Venison stew, but our lamb soup is better. It’s almost a stew.”
“Not too greasy?” Boxster asked.
The woman shook her head, smiling. “Not in this place. You’ll like it. The kitchen keeps it hot.”
“Two bowls and bread,” Boxster said. He looked at the woman now headed for the kitchen. “We will be testing the place. I sort of like it.”
Boxster�
��s eyes never met Trevor’s for long as the sergeant kept scanning the room.
Trevor turned to look for a moment. “That looks like a stage of some sort on the other side of the fireplace.”
“That is why I ordered food so we could stay long enough to see if there is some entertainment. After our expedition, I require some soothing. Don’t you?”
Trevor nodded, but he felt like he needed more than soothing. The drinks came first and then refills accompanied by their dinner. The steaming bowls were large, and the contents looked hearty enough for stew, but the broth was almost clear. Boxster used his hand to wave some of the aroma toward him.
“As promised. I’m sure this will help fill some chunks in that sorrowful soul of yours,” Boxster said.
“How did you know?” Trevor asked.
“You need to learn how to mask your emotions better. I didn’t say ‘sir,’ since we aren’t on duty. Is that acceptable? When we are off duty, may I dispense with the honorifics.”
“It is acceptable,” Trevor said with a smile.
“Didn’t they teach you how to school your emotions when you grew up in the castle?”
“No. Father doesn’t hold back his.”
“I noticed, but that explains why I thought it odd you weren’t taught that. I can give you all kinds of reasons you need to learn.”
“Give me two,” Trevor said.
“Command. You shouldn’t show your friends that you are depressed, even if it is over the deaths of soldiers in the field. Personal Defense. You shouldn’t display emotional weakness to your enemies.”
“But I can feel anger, can’t I?” Trevor asked.
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t feel emotion. You should learn how to conceal it.”
Trevor thought for a bit. “Is that why you just rode out of the ring when you won the jousting championship? Was I wrong to show how excited I was that you prevailed?”
“No. If you had suppressed your excitement, people would have thought it odd and would have wondered even more if you had participated in the preliminary bouts.”
“But if I had a history of showing little emotion, I would have had more control over the situation?”
Boxster shrugged as he took a long sip of his ale. “You would have kept everyone guessing, wouldn’t you? If they are guessing and you aren’t, you have an advantage, even if it is a tiny one.”
“You think I can learn something like that?” Trevor asked.
“It is a matter of discipline. If you want to learn, you can do it. If you don’t want to bother with exercising a great deal of discipline, you never will. People can do all kinds of unexpected things if they apply themselves.”
“I can see that,” Trevor said. “Do you think I’m capable of such a thing?”
“Oddly, I think you are. You don’t know how to dig deep enough to bring that quality out, but that is something we can work on while we are stuck in the garrison.”
Two women and a man stepped onto the stage and began to tune their instruments. Boxster stopped talking and stared at them while they warmed up.
“You are enthralled by one of the women?” Trevor asked with a smile.
Boxster took a long time before he replied. “They are from my home country.”
“What country is that?” Trevor asked.
“I don’t want you telling anyone, but I’m from Brachia.”
Trevor moved his chair, so he could watch them without twisting. The players began. Trevor had never heard music like that before. Brachia was far from Presidon, and that music proved how foreign it was. He turned to look at Boxster, who had his eyes closed, absorbing the music with tears beginning to wet his face. The women started to sing a two-part duet. Trevor was surprised at how the song quieted down the room. If everyone felt like him, the song made a deep emotional connection, but everyone else seemed to be in the same state as Boxster. Trevor felt the emotion, but not as profoundly. He figured he had ignored his father’s music enough that he had grown a certain resistance. Perhaps he was a bit hard-hearted.
The song ended, and Trevor turned to see Boxster wipe his eyes. The sergeant took a deep breath and looked Trevor in the eyes. “I hadn’t expected that. I suppose my discipline could use some work too,” he said. “My country’s music is a powerful magic.”
“Real magic?” Trevor asked
Boxster nodded. “It is philosophically quite different than what they practice in Viksar.”
“If my father knew—”
Boxster held up his hand. “Unless someone who had been to Brachia explained what our magic is like, he wouldn’t notice. I doubt anyone in Presidon would care.”
The trio played a livelier tune. When they ended, Boxster walked over to them. He returned.
“We are moving to a larger table and will join them when their performance is over,” he said.
“Do they know you?” Trevor asked.
“Certainly not, but they haven’t met a Brachian for some time.”
“How did they know you were a Brachian?” Trevor said.
“Don’t you worry about that. They knew.”
Half an hour later, after they had finished their soup, Trevor and Boxster took their mugs to a table for six on the other side of the pub, by the window.
“We put our instruments on the table next to the window to advertise that there are troubadours playing tonight,” the man said and then shrugged. “It is common practice.”
“This is Mara, Hanna, and Tork. Tork didn’t give me his first name. It is a Brachian convention,” Boxster said. He looked at the others. “This is Lieutenant Trevor Arcwin, my superior in the royal army.”
“You are young to command,” Hanna said.
She was a bit older than Lilith, Trevor guessed. Mara was closer to Trevor’s age, perhaps even younger. Tork was much older than both of them, with a graying fringe surrounding a bald head. The man wasn’t hostile, but he held any friendliness in reserve.
“I come from a noble family,” Trevor said. “My father has a bit of influence.”
“And he sticks you out here?” Tork said. “I would regard that as a punishment. Wouldn’t you be more suited to a billet among your kind in a city instead?”
“My kind?” Trevor said.
“Nobles stick together,” Tork said. “It is how life is everywhere from Presidon to Brachia.”
“And if they don’t stick to you?” Trevor asked.
“Then you…of course. You get put in a place like the Red Forest Garrison. We took a walk to see it a few days ago,” Tork said and looked at Boxster. “Is he a banished noble?”
Boxster sat back. “It depends on how you define banished. I would say not yet, but anything can happen.”
Trevor wasn’t too keen on Boxster talking so freely. It wasn’t like him unless he had some other motive.
“How is Brachia? I haven’t been home for many years.”
“Worse,” Mara said.
Trevor thought she looked very pretty, perhaps too much so. Maybe she was able to charm pub owners with her looks and didn’t need the magic that Boxster had talked about.
“Duke Worto has continued his reign of terror. Were you there when he usurped the throne?” she asked Boxster.
The sergeant nodded. “I could tell I wouldn’t like living under the duke.”
“There are plenty who aren’t living anymore, like it or not.”
“Not!” Hanna said. “We prefer to be on the road, but we’ve only been out for four months, and our path has almost been a straight line from Brachia to Presidon. From here, we circle Presidon going to West Moreton, Dorwick, Ginster, and then a straight line back to Brachia beginning with Viksar. We have to return home sometime.”
Boxster began to ask them about places and customs. Since Trevor had no frame of reference about such things, his mind began to drift, thinking about what Boxster had said about hiding one’s emotions. He had already learned that the discipline involved was difficult, even for Boxster.
&nb
sp; None of them even tried to involve him in the conversation, which was okay with him. Eventually, the trio rose.
“Time for another performance. You are welcome to stay,” Tork said.
“We should be getting back to the garrison. Shouldn’t we, Lieutenant?” Boxster said.
Trevor smiled and bowed to the players. “We should. It was a pleasure to meet you, and even more of a pleasure to listen.”
“Well said, nobleman,” Tork said. “If you will excuse us.”
Boxster lead Trevor out of the pub. They had consumed almost enough ale to get drunk, but not quite. The cool night air took Trevor even farther away from that condition. They found their horses and slowly followed the road to the garrison.
“Were you surprised to see them?” Trevor asked.
“Of course I was!” Boxster said. “It has been quite a while since I have talked to anyone from home. As you know, I don’t share my origins.”
“A mystery man,” Trevor said.
“And I want to keep it that way. We can talk about emotional control tomorrow. Tonight, I want to wallow in nostalgia, if you will permit.”
“Wallow away,” Trevor said. He was happy that Boxster was willing to let him share his night if only a little bit.
Chapter Twelve
~
G eneral Greenwood was busy while they were gone. The replacements had already been selected, and the general said there would be no time for personal interviews.
A week later, Trevor was summoned, yet again, into the general’s office.
“I am certain you won’t have the same kind of trouble that you faced on your first assignment,” the general said.
He leaned over and handed over the orders. Trevor took the packet and left the general’s office.
Trevor opened the orders in front of Boxster in his office. “Much the same except we will be keeping to real roads rather than forest paths. Because of that, we will get a wagon.”
Boxster examined the route more closely. “If there is an assassination attempt, it won’t be as blatant as the last time.”
“Or whoever is behind it will attack us with more men,” Trevor said.
